Barbarians Healer
by Kisshulover1
Summary: After he is taken prisoner to the Land of the Swedes, Tino soon becomes the healer of the Swedish leaders son Peter, who has fallen ill. Tino begins to fall for the handsome and gentle Barbarian leader and wonders if romance can bloom on the battle field? Rated M.
1. Land of the Lions

This story contains violence, and bloody themes but it will have happy-fun-sex-time and romantic love too! ;D I do not own Hetalia, if I did, Berwald would be naked all~ the time ;3

ALSO NOTHING IN THIS FANFIC IS HISTORICALLY ACCURATE! Enjoy 3

...

Tino screamed. Scrambling over the corpses of the village's men he felt his stomach churn painfully as his feet barely trampled upon the smashed skull of a Finnish man's head. He cringed as he stumbled on. He couldn't be captured. He had to live on and wait out the night when the Dane's left the shores of his homeland.* Only then could he wander outside and treat the wounded. He shuddered. That is, if there would be anyone still left alive after the raid.

The Danes had docked near the ports along Helsinki, leaving barely an hours time for the Finn's to get ready for battle.* The small fishing village had been caught off guard and they paid dearly for it. There was word that an attack might occur, but barely any of the villagers paid heed to it. Tino felt the pit of his stomach turn. They should have taken the warning signs...

Tino, who had been along the flaxen fields, drying the sour smelling grass for clothing, had heard the battle horns blare against the bright jewel blue sky. In that moment, when the sound of the horns clouded across the trees, he dropped everything and ran.

Now it seemed the battle was over, as Tino witnessed the hated vibrant black of the ravened flag whip-lashing across the once peaceful sky of Finland.* Tino gritted his teeth. Clumsily trotting down the small rolling hills he came to a frightening scene. Perched on a few carts loaded with stolen goods was the one person Tino hated more than anyone. The damned Dane's leader, Mathias. Tino furrowed his brows as he steadied his shaking legs.

Last spring Tino had the great misfortune of making Mathias acquaintance. The Danish vikings had just raided their already poor city capital, and were making off with the cities few treasure's when the Dane had spotted Tino and his cousin's Nikolas and Björt in the crowds of captives. The tall flaxen haired Dane had stooped down to the kneeling cousins and smiled brightly at them.

"Come with me, or die." The Dane had smirked, producing a two handed Danish axe, the blade slantingly sharp. Neither Nikolas nor Tino budged, Björt winning and throwing a fuss in his blankets. This made the Dane irritable, and he yanked Nikolas up by the collar of his tunic, his teeth bared and dogmatic.

"Are ya deft?" he barked at the Norsemen, but Nikolas did not answer, only held his little brother tighter in his arms, his eyes as emotionless as ever. The Dane snarled, and with a quick tug, he had hoisted Nikolas on his shoulder and stomped away, yelling something at his warriors to disperse. Nikolas had yelled and cried with fright, kicking and screaming, the babe in his arms sobbing loudly. Tino had shouted after him, clawing through the crowds of people who were being pushed back by the Danish vikings swords. But before he could get to his cousins, Tino already saw the mass of blond haired men pushing their dragon headed ships southward. The little Finn was left standing in the bright blossoming fields of flowers and blood.

Tino shuddered. It was all happening again. Those white and red sails, warning of the white of sun bleached bones and the onslaught of red blood, it was enough to make a grown man weep. But Tino would not cower. After his remaining family had been abducted he had done his very best to follow his cousin's line of work, becoming a healer to the village like Nikolas. But now Tino was sure that Nikolas was dead. The young Finn of nineteen winters wanted revenge, and he wanted it now. So, storming down the grassy knoll that led to the outskirts of the flax field and the cattle paddock's, Tino quietly slid through the back gates of the village.

Hiding behind a few hay stacks that had been piled outside of a black smith's shop, Tino ground his teeth with disgust. There was the Dane, his tunic stained red with blood, his rough fingers twiddling with the sinew string wrapped around the monstrous handle of his axe. The very axe that threatened Tino a year before. Suddenly all the anger, all the hurt, and all the loneliness crashed down on the Finn and he shouted with fire in his breath and iron in his heart. He lunged out from behind the straw and flung himself at the Dane, whose eyes widened with surprise.

In an instant, Tino was thrown over his enemies shoulder and shoved into the dirt. He groaned with pain, mildly aware that his left arm had been forcibly extended upward, his heaving chest crushing the other arm. He ground his teeth together.

"Well, well, well. Feisty little pup, ain't ya'?" That sickeningly obnoxious voice violated Tino's ears. He cringed.

"Looks like this little traitor was stupid enough to come out of his little hiding spot." The tall Danish man grinned to his companion, another Danish warrior.

"I'm not a traitor! You are the ones who are the traitors! You murderer's!" Tino screamed. Mathias sneered.

"Not too smart are ya' kid?" Mathias asked. Tino didn't feel obliged to answer. Instead he held his head as high as it would go, his neck aching.

"You killed my family, you bastard!" Tino snarled. His throat ached and his left arm had gone numb from the Danes brute strength.

"I've killed a lot of families over the years-refresh my memory." Mathias let a vicious smile crawl over his lips.

"My two cousin's, Nikolas and Björt." Tino stared into the Dane's face with pure hatred.

But, instead of the Dane laughing in his face as he was sure he would have, Tino was pulled up and steadied. Mathias had a lazy grin stretched on his face, and his strong arms balanced on his hips.

"I know who you're talking about lad. I know very well." He mused.

"Don't call me lad!" the little Finnish man spit. "My names Tino, you damn bastard!"

Mathias smiled gravely before he made a hand gesture behind him, and in a matter of seconds a few men had rounded around Tino's back and had flung a mass of dried rope and leather throngs around his body. Tino's eyes widened and he cursed, wriggling and biting at the hands of the Danish soldiers. But it was too late. He was thrown into the chest of Mathias harshly, his arms abound behind his back, legs tied at the ankles. He was going to die.

Mathias held him up by the collar, the Finns eyes bright and blazing, like an arrow caught on fire in the heat of battle.

"I know where your cousin's are. They're in good hands boy. I'll take ya' to see 'em if ya' like. Though you'll owe me a favor in return." The Dane mused, his mouth pulled up into a grin.

"I would rather die than to be indebted to a viking."* Tino breathed out with spite. The Dane frowned before flinging him over his shoulder.

"Too bad for you. I was hoping you would go without a fuss." And with that Tino was clubbed over the head with something hard and solid and his head hung low, his eyes rolling back into hsi skull. He could hear the rumbling of the Danish mans laughter, and then all was silent.

...

Tino awoke to the annoying squawking of gulls and the smell of salt water. He opened his eyes, wiping the sleep and puffiness from them. He yawned loudly before sitting up on something solid. Turning his head cautiously, he looked to see that he was laying across a makeshift hammock, the woven material acting as a soft cushion for Tinos body. Tino groaned and rolled his head back. The back of his head felt sore, and as he placed his hands to his scalp he pulled back and winced.

Brown and flaking blood had dried against his baby fine hair, leaving his locks clumped and dirty. He felt his gut churn painfully into the first inkling of fear.

He had been captured. After he had been forcibly knocked out, he supposed Mathias had loaded him onto the Danes ship. Tino stretched upwards and looked out the small hatched window to see the rolling and thunderous waves of the ocean sprawled out before him. Tinos eyes widened.

The sea looked absolutely terrifying, like it would just roll up lazily and smash Tino where he stood. The undoubtedly shilling waters were a grave sight for many viking ships, and whose to say the one Tino was boarded on would not sink? This frightening thought left goosebumps on his slowly cooling flesh.

Feeling like he was about to faint from exhaustion and fright, Tino hurriedly escaped the confines of the small wooden box like cabin that was his cell and quickly tramped upstairs.

Once against the hot breath of the sun, he sighed heavily into the tangible air. That was, until he saw all the unfamiliar and dangerous looking faces on board.

Men. A hundred of them or more looked at Tino like he was a small rabbit caught into a hunters snare. All hungry eyed, jaws slack, teeth brutishly yellow and dogmatic. Tino stepped back.

One of the Danish sailors quickly advanced on Tino and wrapped his arms around the Finns stomach. He pulled the Finn to his chest and sneered. Tino screamed and thrashed, yelling every Finnish swear word in the book.

"Hey! This ones under my protection! He's to be a peace offering for the Leader of the Norther Lions Tribe! Anyone that touches him picks a fight with me and the Swedes!"* Mathias's cruel voice shook over Tino's ears. In an instant the foul Danish hand that had held him capture grew rigid before setting him free. Tino trotted away blindly before breathing heavily. He needed air. Oh how he needed air.

He closed his eyes tight before looking back up to Mathias. A sly grin on his face.

The Danish leader held his arms wide and shoved them sky ward, a backdrop of cliff shards and verdant land invaded Tino's eye sight. He gasped at the sheer size of the looming cliffs.

"Welcome Tino! To the land of the Swedes!" He cackled. Tino's blood ran cold.

...

Tino was thrown onto the back of a pile of clean blankets and smocks. After the boat had been docked and all the Danish soldiers and sailors had dismounted the huge vessel, Mathias had ordered that Tino was to be dressed and cleaned up quickly in one of the cabins. Tino had protested greatly, until Mathias had threatened to club him again in the back of the head. After that, Tino cooperated.

A few minutes later and Tino's dank and bloodied clothing was discarded and placed on a heap in the floor, the cabin boy helping him to slip into a powered blue tunic that complimented his violet eyes. Along with tanned breaches and a flaxen blue cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders by a broach of abalone, Tino was allowed to go outside. There he was escorted down the huge and towering serpentine boat by a row of rough looking men, all with threatening glares.

Tino tugged his hands away more than twice when a few of the new and strangely tall men offered to help him off the boat. Tino would not take their kindness, he was much too stubborn and pissed off at the moment. And scared. Very scared. But he would swallow his fears and endure. Mathias had kept him alive and brought him here to the land of the Lions for a reason. One he hoped that did not involve his head on a silver platter.

But Tino wanted answers. Why had he been spared? Why had he been dragged through sea and rock and foam to the Island of the Swedes? Tino had only heard in tales and lore of the Swedish warriors strength and brutality. They were almost as frighting and dogmatic as the Danes. Almost.

Tino upturned his eyes to see that along all the row of soldiers he was being barricaded by, small jolts of curious stares and murmurers greeted him from the native folk. Tino walked through the twists and turns of a small village, though it seemed to be only temporarily built, as the small huts of hide and tanned skins were connected by thin sinew ropes and shoddy willow branches. Tino gazed on, puzzlement breaching his features.

Why would he have been brought here, all the way to this tribe of Swedish vikings, when Mathias could have easily just killed him where he stood? Tino frowned deeply. Perhaps the Dane was more stupid than he looked.

Tino bit the inside of his lip and trotted along, a few soldiers nudging his elbow to make him walk faster. He was about to yell at one who had struck his shoulder in an attempt to keep him moving when he felt a thin piece of cord wrap around his waist. Tino's eyes widened before he turned around to see Mathias, his grin ever apparent, the end of a brightly decorated leather cord wrapped in his fists. The leather was jeweled with bright amber and the color of deep amethyst that matched his eyes.

Tino glared at him. "Speak Viking. Why have you brought me here?" Tino growled. He was a man damnit, and he was going to act like it. He pushed and pulled at the extension of leather.

Mathias just laughed and pulled on the leash tighter. "As you know, little Tino, the Danes and the Swedes often fight constantly."

Tino ground his teeth at the 'little' part, but nodded curtly.

"Well, it seems that now they both have a common enemy. The Russians." Mathias's grin looked completely wild as he looked ahead of them.

"The damn Russian's have been edging on our territory, first in parts of Sweden and now Denmark. They have been attacking our settlements all along the North and South and have burned many of our towns to the ground. Its unacceptable." He growled out.

Tino looked quizzically at him. He could feel the towns people around him fixing their eyes on him. It made Tino shiver. Why was he getting all this attention? Did he look so foreign to them? Was it his small size? Or maybe his eyes? Tino bit his lip. He was beginning to start to wish for death. He knew what the Swedes were capable of, heard stories of their cruelties to their neighboring countries. Tino had no sudden urge to be under the mercy of a Swedish viking, and he hoped he never would.

"So, the Swedish leader of the Northern Lions Tribe and I made a deal. We would both hold our fighting of each other in order to exterminate the Russian invaders." Mathias smiled brightly.

Tino bit his lip, afraid to ask the question that was pestering and fluttering in his mind.

"So...Why am I here? Why did you not kill me? You mentioned something about me being a peace offering. Am I to be a slave?" Tino muttered, his voices still ringing with bitterness. Mathias chuckled.

"Those questions will soon be answered, but first, I think you will like to see the surprise I have for you." With that, Mathias un-clipped the leather lead rope from Tino's body and pushed Tino into a clump of brownish thronged tarps.

Tino yelped quickly before landing flat on his face on the straw covered floor of the musty hut. He winced and rubbed his sore head. He blinked a few times before he lifted his head, and when he did, he felt his jaw drop and his eye begin to water.

Sitting, just as wide eyed, was a lithe and startled looking Nikolas. Tino and Nikolas stared at each other with bewilderment for a good three seconds before Tino cried out.

"Cousin!" He yelped, crawling to the arms of his now baffled and crying cousin. Nikolas wrapped his arms tightly around the small frame of the Finn before spasmodically kissing his brow and the top of his head. The two cousins let out shuttering sobs before Nikolas's voice finally regained composure.

"Tino, my dear cousin! Why are you here? Is this a vision? A cruel joke? Or are you really in my arms?" Nikolas's voice was hoarse from crying. Tino sniffed and sat up, looking his cousin dead in the eye. The eyes of his friend and kin that he was so sure he had lost a year ago. It was like a dream.

"I am here cousin, and I will do everything in my power to save you from the vikings and this horrible place!" Tino's voice shook with determination as he held his cousins hands. He looked into his cousin's eyes and saw something shift in those neutral orbs.

"I cannot Tino, I am needed here." The words stung the Finn right through the heart. Tino starred at him with disbelief. Nikolas's eyes grew neutral, like the slowly setting sun as winter holds it in its clutches.

"Wh...What?" Tino asked, his voice choking. Did he just hear correctly?

"I'm sorry Tino, but, this past year has changed me. I thought the vikings were ruthless and cruel, but they are just another tribe, like our own at home, trying to survive."

Tino dropped his jaw low to the floor. "What? Do you even know what you're saying? They slaughtered our village!" Tino's voice was shattered with anger and frustration. He grabbed Nikolas's tunic by the fists, noticing with annoyance that it was made by the wool of the thick and sturdy Danish and Swedish breeds. Well, he had certainly gotten cozy with the invaders.

Nikolas frowned deeply. He seemed torn emotionally, but finally he spoke, low and warning.

"You're wrong Tino. They attacked for good reason." Nikolas stared at his cousin dead in the face. Tino sat their baffled, the tears slowly drying from his now heated face.

"How could thier killing be justified?" He whispered harsly, noticing Björt sleeping in a small crib beside a bigger four poster bed, one that Tino was sure Nikolas shared with Mathias. He scowled with disgust.

"Tino... Some of the men and women in our village were traitors. They had been working with the Russians to over thrown our city capital. Why do you think the Danes would even travel so far to the confines of Helsinki? They feared another tribe of Russian's would claim the city, extending their territories through the Nordic countries. Mathias was just... making sure the city never toppled. He is an idiot, but he has a good heart."

"By killing people? He's a monster!" Tino was on the verge of tears again. Nikolas sighed and shook him with his hands very lightly.

"Tino! Tino, listen! They were traitors! Why do you think only a few men and women were killed? The rest of us were spared... The Danish only killed the people working under the Russians. The Slavic's would have attacked the village by the end of the month had it not been for Mathias's crew. " Nikolas breathed out harshly. But Tino would have none of it. Tino knew that it had taken Nikolas a long time to figure out and piece this information together and form his reasons based on his emotions. He had a year to resolve his hate of the vikings. Tino had only a few minutes to make his judgement of them.

Nikolas sat up wearily and walked to a small wooden crib lined with rabbits furs and woolen swatches. Tino crawled over to the crib and watched as Nikolas wrapped the sleeping Björt up closer in the hides. The babe must be no older than four years. Tino's face shifted to heated concern. If what Nikolas told him was true, then Mathias, no matter how cruel, was perhaps saving the viliage from a more horrible fate the Danish vikings. But still, it should not have been resorted to murder.

"This settlement is no place to raise a baby Nikolas, no matter how much sympathy you have for these murderous barbarians." Tino's voice was bitter, cold. He could not believe his cousin would think about even staying here. Tino could hardly stand staying here for another minute.

"Thats just it Tino. I'm safe here. Mathias has given Björt an education and me a home. I am a valued person in this tribe, I am the only healer in the area for miles. I have great power and I am respected. Plus, I am in love..." Nikolas looked back to the Finn. His face lined with a small scent of doubt.

"Love?" Tino squeaked. He scrunched up his face and snarled.

"With who?" He whispered harshly, minding the sleeping babe.

Nikolas shifted his gaze and bit his lip. "It is hard to believe myself, but I've fallen for the brutish Dane... He may be of of the most stupidest, foolish, idiotic, perverted, and insane man that I have ever met... But he cares for me."

"You mean Mathias?" Tino gawked, his face boiling.

Nikolas nodded, his face neutral, blank. Tinos eyes riveted on the verge of insanity.

"After hes proved himself to be a murderer! Nikolas..." Tino began but was cut off. A shift and slither of the thick and heavy tarps were drawn away and Mathias stood in the shaded area of the opening. Tino frowned deeply. He was not in a happy Finnish-go-lucky mood. He was pissed off and damn if he was going to try to hide it.

"Sorry to cut the reunion short Norge, but I need Tino for a moment." Mathias grinned a great and big boyish smile. Nikolas's eyes widened.

"Mathias, I don't think this is a good idea anymore. Tino is here now, I don't want him to be put into anymore danger..." Nikolas sat up and walked over to the Dane, his tunic shifting, robes dragging against the hay filled floor.

"Norge, we had a deal."

"Screw the deal Mathias. Tino isn't strong enough for this! I don't care if you want him as a peace offering! Hes a human being and I will not have him be bound down by someone else's will!" Nikolas shouted. A wail was heard and Björt began to stir from the confines of his crib. Nikolas gave out a frustrated breath before collecting the babe in his arms and hushing him. Tino started to the two adults, confusion plastered on his face like an ugly scar.

"Tino will be fine. He'll work as your assistant healer for the two tribes. Berwald will treat him well..." Mathias reasoned, holding Nikolas's forearms gently. Tino looked taken aback. He was so sure that the Dane didn't have a gentle bone in his body. Perhaps looks could be deceiving.

Nikolas stared long and hard at the Dane, annoyance painting his features like a wonderfully dull tapestry.

"No. I trust Berwald but I don't think this will be good for Tino."

"Nikolas, whats going on..." Tino breathed, looking to his cousin who would not meet his eyes. The Norsemen frowned and kept his face blank.

"The leader to the Northern tribe's son is sick Tino. I am only one healer. I need another one to look after the boy while I tend to the wounded soldiers. I knew you had been practicing the art of medicine so I thought I should bring you here to help look after the boy. I thought you could help look after the leaders sick son...I missed you so much, and I did not want you to lead your life thinking that I was dead...I begged Mathias to bring you back to me, but he had to ask the permission of the Northern Tribes leader..." Nikolas swallowed hard.

"The Swedish leader agreed to finance your trip here and to let you try to heal his son as my assistant, but at a price... I'm sorry Tino, but I couldn't bare to know that you were all alone on that small sea port! I'm sorry!" Nikolas's characteristiclly blank face smashed into a thousand pieces and he clung to Björts small frame. But Nikolas's face still was a bit hardened. He was afraid of something, but he would not show his fear fully.

The baby wailed and twisted in his brothers arms. Nikolas did nothing to soothe the baby's stubborn protests.

"What was the price Nikolas?" Tino's voice was shaking. Mathias gripped his arm tightly, dragging him through the tarp.

"What was the price Nikolas!" Tino screamed as he was dragged out the hut and onto the lush green grasses that had been stamped out by the feet of war ponies. Tino felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. Mathias kept tugging at his arm.

"I'm sorry Tino, but it was either this or you be killed by the Russian vikings when they invaded!" Nikolas whispered to himself as he watched his cousin being dragged to one of the more grander and fashionable huts.

Tino kicked and screamed with all his might, causing quite a scene.

"Let go of me! Perkele!" Tino twisted and fought, trying to wriggle out of Mathias's strong grip.*

"Calm down, I'm just taking ya' to see the little sick brat! Ya have ta' cure him, remember? Your knowledge of illnesses is important to the connected tribes. If the Swede's leader's son dies, then my end of the bargain is ruined. I need you to keep the damned child alive to keep the peace between the Danes and the Swedes. If the kid dies, the rest of us go to war with the lions tribes, and these Swedes are some sick fucks at war." Mathias said, his sharp teeth gleaming, his red woolen coat wrapping around him in the breeze.

Tino growled. Under normal circumstances he would have been quite cheery and pleasant. He would have been happy to help a sick or injured child. But not now, not when he was had no real idea what was going on. Damn the Danes and damn the Swedes!

As Tino kept struggling the Swedish and few Danish people began to take notice. Almost at once all of the blue and sharp green eyes of the Swedes were on him, with questioning looks, some even giggling or chuckling. Tino did not find this amusing. Not one bit.

He fought wildly and fiercely, like a trapped trout in a net, its silvery body flaunting and twisting. Tino would not give up without a fight.

But all to soon he was pushed, faced to face in front of the confines of another tent, this time one larger and of a richer brown hide, probably deer. The inklings of faded branded spirals and wisps of banners cascaded and whip lashed against the high peeked tent. Tino swallowed hard. A huge shield was crested over the front of the tent, its colors dark and out stretched. A huge roaring lion with fierce blue eyes stared into Tino's soul. He bit his lip.

Mathias smirked before hastily pushing Tino through the leather flaps, the little Finn stumbling in the process. He gave a startled yelp before landing face first in the hay scattered room. Mathias laughed abruptly.

Once he lifted his head he could see that he was in the room of someone of great importance. Stretched on the walls of the tarps were glorious flags of battle, each with crown wearing lions, drawn in bright yellow paint and the most richest of blues Tino had ever seen. To the left of the hut was a low set wooden table, stuffed to the brim with little flasks and bottles, bundles of herbs and flowers and a small mortar and pestle. Tino recognized it as a medical table. A small smoldering stump of a candle was poised near a iron cauldron. He began to grow curious.

As his eyes scanned to the middle of the hut he could see a big four poster bed that seemed to be empty, the furs and blankets strewn messily, as if the sleeper hadn't gotten a good nights rest. But...on closer inspection, Tino could see a small mass of blankets that were bundled up tight. A mess of dirty blonde hair peeked up from the small head, two incredibly bushy eyebrows to complete the child's face. Then Tino saw him...

There was a man, but not just any man. A crouched figure who looked to be taller than Tino and maybe even Mathias. Tino held his breath.

The crouched man was clinging to the hand of the small boy wrapped up in a mound of blankets. The mans eyes were close tight and his mouth was clenched, as if he was praying something to the Gods. Tino felt this throat grow dry. The mans clothes were dirty and a bit scuffled, but still in pristine condition, with rich golds and vibrant blues. This was a man of great importance.

"Hey, Berwald. I got that surprise I promised ya'!" Mathias chucked and nudged Tino up with his arms. Tino ground his teeth, trying to wiggle free from the Danes grip.

"'m not 'n tha' mood t' pl'y g'mes..." The harsh and rough voice of the man softly pressed into Tino ears, and the Finn couldn't help but shiver...Wait... Shiver? Tino's eyes widened.

"Come on! I promised ya' something good, didn't I? Its the new healer, Nikolas's cousin. The one I brought back from Helsinki to save yer' little Peter..."

At the mention of 'little Peter', the man looked up, eyes slowly sliding open. Tino gasped.

Those eyes looked to be like those of a wild Siberian Tiger. The sea green orbs were startlingly bright and glaring against the mans pale bone colored face. The eyes, like crystalline daggers, looked to be melting in with Tino's very soul and he shivered. This man was dangerous.

"hmm..." He let out a low rumbled that made Tino jump and squeak in an unmanly manner. Scared? Who, him?

"Well, don't just stand there! Take a look at the peace offering I'm giving you! Apparently he's an educated healer. I thought he could help yer son!" Mathias smiled brightly, a grin gracing his lips. Tino threw a glare at him before noticing that the brutishly tall man with the sharp flaxen colored hair had indeed stood up and was walking towards Tino. He swallowed hard.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was as tall as an ash tree, or maybe that his eyes to be like a roaring ocean after a destructive storm, but the man did look handsome, in a barbaric sort of way. His height was intimidating, but the way he walked was quiet, almost humbling, and his high set features and chiseled jaw only heightened the naturally rugged good looks he had. Plus, his evident muscles and strong looking chest were a nice feature to look at...Tino felt his face heat up. This man was gorgeous.

But...Tino was also more than certain that this man was an enemy. This thought helped Tino keep the raging red blush from his pale little face, and the rigid sensation that was building up in his pants, cool down.

The man, Berwald-as Mathias called him, finally stood in front of Tino and starred. Just stared. This made Tino blink a few times before he finally found his voice.

"Is that your son?" He asked quietly. Berwald raised his eyebrows before turning his powerfully built body behind him. Tino bit his lip with fright. So much for Mr. Macho Finn.

"Hmmmm..." Tino took that as a 'yes'.

"'s been s'ck fer' the p'st week..." Berwald's voice sounded tired and worn, like he had been sitting up all night in hopes that his son's illness would evaporate into thin air. It made Tino feel a bit better about the man.

Tino bit his lip but slowly and hesitantly walked over to were the wheezing and sleepy looking boy lay. Tino knelt by the big bushy brow child who looked no more than seven years of age. The child's face was as pale as a fishes belly, and skin just as cold. But he seemed to be sweating like an ox that had been attached to a yolk for days. Tino did not like the look of this child's health. It would take more than a good nights sleep to make him well again.

"Has he eaten anything strange in the past day? Or played outside when it was raining?" Tino asked quietly. He dug underneath the blankets and furs and produced the child's chilled hand. He lightly squeezed it, searching for the pulse. It was faint, but there just the same. The child sniffled, his nose a cheery red.

"'s been eat'n allr'ght...meat n' b'ead m'stly... A bit'a soup... He pl'yed in ta' rain a bit l'st week..." Berwald answered, his eyes fixed on Tino like he was some exotic creature. Tino lowered his gaze, his blush back in place.

"Keep him in doors, and close the tarps at all times during the night to keep in the warm air, but opened slightly at day for the fresh breeze. For the next few days I'll give him a sleeping draught to help him get more sleep, also, no more bread. Just some meat broth with some soft vegetables. Chicken or rabbit would be best, no carrots in the broth." Tino muttered off other bits and pieces of remedies and medicine, counting them off of his petite little hand. Berwald listening intently.

"So, I take it then your going to look after him?" Mathias grinned, leaning against a oaken chair, a plated skin of a reindeer laid lazily atop it.

Tino bit his lip. He could stay here with Nikolas and test the waters with the barbarians. Or... he could get his skull split open by the Russians back home...Tino sighed.

"Yes, I will stay. But you must do everything I say, or else I fear this child will not live to see another winter." Tino sat up and moved away from the bed.

"I'll do everything I can to help your son." Tino stared at Berwald, trying his best to not meet his eyes, but a small smile graced the Finns face.

"Nnnn... Th'nk ya."

"See Berwald! I did good right? I hope you enjoy your present, hes quite a little spitfire this one! I suppose this means the peace offering between the Danes and Swede's is solid?" Mathias grinned wildly.

"What is this I keep hearing about a peace treaty?" Tino finally whispered harshly.

"Like I said, Danes and Swedes are not great friends. So, we each gave each other something along the lines of a gift of piece. Berwald gave me the use of his war ponies for my troops, and as much of his forests timbers and I gave him you." Mathias grinned cheekily, pushing Tino into the chest of Berwald with one quick swipe.

Tino squeaked loudly, pushing against the solid and oh-so-nicely-built chest in front of him. The little Finn did his best to back away from the taller Swede, but a muscular arm held him in place.

"Nnnn...Ja M'th'as. I acc'pt yur p'ace offerin'. He'll m'ke a good w'fe..." Berwald muttered, looking down at the now wide eyed Finn.

Tino's jaw dropped, as an eloquent "Eh?" peeked out from those pink little lips.

"Tino, your payment for the trip here was gracelessly financed by Berwald. So, in return he wished that you become his bride. I hope you have fun with your new husband! Take care of him Berwald, he sure is fragile." Mathias cackled before leisurely exiting the tarp hut. leaving Tino to stutter against a well toned chest, solid arms holding him in place gently.

"W'lc'me m' w'fe, ta' your new h'me..." Berwald's glare faded and instead became a softened smile. Tino stared into those greenish river stone colored eyes and did the first thing that came to mind. He Screamed.

"!"

...

Oh Tino, I feel so bad for youuuuu! *laughs maniacally*

Authors Note:

I know I know, not many of Y'all like "manly Tino' but seriously, Finland kicked the Soviet Unions ass in WWII, I think Tino deserves a little bit of manly attitude. But don't worry, now that he's met Berwald he'll resume to his cutesy (yet manly) little self. 3 Sorry this chapter is so damn heavy and scary guys. Next ones will be better, I promise 3

-"He had to live on and wait out the night when the Dane's left the shores of his homeland."- The Danes have invaded Finland twice, in 1191 and in 1202, though I have no real time frame of when this story takes place, I'm not basing this on any historical records 3

-"The Danes had docked near the ports along Helsinki, leaving barely an hours time for the Finn's to get ready for battle."-Helsinki is the capital of Finland

-"Now it seemed the battle was over, as Tino witnessed the hated vibrant black of the ravened flag whip-lashing across the once peaceful sky of Finland."- The Raven banner is very famous in Viking lore, but there are speculations as to which tribes used it and what it really meant. Basically it is a spherical banner with ringlets of black with a soaring raven on it to represent Odin's ravens.

-"Hey! This ones under my protection! He's to be a peace offering for the Leader of the Norther Lions Tribe! Anyone that touches him picks a fight with me and the Swedes!"-Berwald looks like a lion. 'nuff said.

-""Let go of me! Perkele!" Tino twisted and fought, trying to wriggle out of Mathias's strong grip."- Perkele= Finnish swear word like 'fuck'


	2. Damen Lejon

Hey Guys! I'm going to be leaving in a week or two to a place with limited internet access, so I have no clue when chapters for these stories will come in. Hopefully I will Finnish a few more chapters for each story so be on the look out! I DO NOT OWN HETALIA! If I did Sweden would be naked all the time! REVIEW OR HANA-TAMAGO WILL EAT MAH FACE! Thank you to **MalinChan** and **yotzie** for being my Swedish/Finnish translators! Much love you you guys!

...

Tino's eyes widened and his throat felt like it was on fire. After screaming his little head off, he heard a gruff moan fill the astonished silence of the grand hut. He whirled his head around with enough speed to put a frightened deer to shame. Hands still pressed against the solid and rugged body of the Swede, his face tightened when he saw what had made the pitiful voice.

The little boy, the Swede's son, had woken up from Tino's shameless screaming, and was now shuffling under the blankets, his matted hair stuck with sweat to his face, his lips chapped and parted, a fine line of red dusting his cheeks. This child was one of the sickest Tino had ever saw, and he felt the over powering need to save him, his fright be damned.

The tall Swedish man that Tino found out was named Berwald slowly recoiled his grip and let Tino stumbled over to the edge of the sick child's bed. Tino blushed furiously before backing away without looking too awkward and afraid. He failed miserably. He turned back to Berwald and did his best to give a disapproving stare, or a growl, anything to let the Swedish man know that Tino would not be the Bride of any viking! But...that stare, the sharp glassy glare of green and sea sent shivers down Tino's spine and reduced him to a sheepish impish little Finnish boy who quickly turned away to stare back at the clumps of piled furs and blankets.

Doing his best to navigate himself through the bed, empty bottles of herbs and bowls of crushed roots scattered against the floor, he finally made it to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. He lightly pulled back the covers and was delighted to find that the child's eyes were open, though a bit watery and shiny. As least he had not passed out.

"Hello..." Tino cooed softly. He peeled back the dull colors of the deer pelts and bright spun wool blankets, unearthing the top half of the little boy. The small and thin body was wearing a snow white chemise with trims and stitches of blue that came together in a small bow. It was very cute and it made Tino smile softly.

The boy blinked a few times before setting his watered gaze on Tino. The boy craned his neck up and Tino diligently helped him to sit up, calling Berwald over to pile the pillows filled with hay underneath the boys head and neck for better support. Berwald nodded and, his stern glare crumbling back to his face, did as he was told, balancing folded fox pelts and homemade stitched pillows of flax against the now coughing boy. Tino, soft and caring smile still in place, wiped the sweaty and clumped hair away from the boys forehead, allowing the boy better sight.

He would not allow himself to get too close to Berwald, for he was afraid. Not afraid of the stern glare, or the Swedes strongly built body, nor fear of how cruel Berwald could turn out to be. No. He was afraid of getting swept up. Swept up by this new emotion brewing in his stomach, and up his chest to nestle in his heart. He didn't know what it was or how to even name it, but it was there just the same. And Tino had no clue what to do with it. All he knew was that he would not be a wife. He just wouldn't.

"Mathais..." Tino breathed, his voice dull, but with still the edges of spite, violated the silence. Mathias craned his neck upward, his shit eating grin still in place. His eyes sparkled.

"What can I do for ya', _Prinsessan_?"* Mathias chuckled darkly. Berwald snapped head back to glare deeply at the tall Danish man, but Mathias just laughed more.

Tino ground his teeth together before taking a deep breath. He was in the presence of a sick child, he would be damned if some Dumbass Danish man was going to cause him to lash out.

"Get me some hot water, clean wash rags, some clean bowls, lye soap if you have any, and a knife." Tino said through gritted teeth. He kept his eyes trained on the child whose bushy brows were knotted in a pout. The child's feeble hands wiped against his nose and he sniffled irritably. Tino sighed and patted his head once more.

"Sure thing, Prinsessan! But whats the knife for? Ya' gonna operate on the brat or somethin'?" Mathias barked with joyous laughter. Berwalds face flashed fear for a second but Tino's irritated face melted it away. Mathias was about to pushed the leather tarps of the hut when Tino spoke.

"The knife is for you, if you insist on keep calling me 'Prinsessan.'" Tino muttered. Berwald raised his eyebrows, his face bewildered. Mathias's face blanked with astonishment before a chuckle graced his devilish lips again. He smiled widely before nodding off to Tino.

"Got it, no more _Princessan_..." Mathias paused before he regained his cheerful demenor. "Bye bye Løve Kone! Hope ya have fun with your new husband!"* Mathias chuckled brightly before tramping out of the room. Tino's face heated up. He barley understood Danish but he was pretty sure what Mathias had just titled him. Tino furrowed his brow with annoyance. It turned out he would be needing that knife... He hoped Nikolas liked sleeping with a dickless Dane.

"Sorry 'bout th't...He's alw'ys a pain n' th' ass..." Berwald muttered softly, turning back to Tino. Tinos face regained his composure and he quickly turned back to the child.

"He clubbed me upside the head. I know." Tino muttered bitterly. Berwald stood up straighter, the top of his flaxen head grazing the top of the tent. Were all Swedish men this tall? Tino thought bitterly.

Berwald sighed and just sat down on a low set stool. His eyes had dissolved their stern glare, like a wall that had been blown to bits by the rough sea wind, leaving nothing but grated rock and land. Bare and truthful.

"I'm s'rry 'bout br'ng'ng ya here... Mathias told m' you c'me of free w'll...I j'st...w'nted m' son b'tter..." Berwald mumbled softly. Tino griped the edge of the bed, his face solid and smooth, but a tear stil managed to escape his violet eyes, trailing downward.

"Momma..."

Tino froze as did Berwald, their eyes both wide.

"Momma...Don't cry..." The feeble voice whispered.

Tino looked down to see the small and round face of the child, his eyes wide, brows craned to give the impression that he was worried. Tino looked to Berwald, not knowing what to say. Berwald bit his lip and walked over to the small little boy. Tino quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his borrowed tunic.

"'s ok P'ter..." Berwald hushed the child. The child's innocent and wide eyes regained a bit of their happiness and Tino plastered a fake smile on his face just for the little boy. The boys face had a bit of freckles tucked into his smooth and soft skin, his baby fat still present in his cheeks. The boy looked stubborn, adventurous, as it he'd never ones heard the word "no" and often liked to cause mischief and pranks. It made Tino want to pat him on the head and give him a hug. He looked like such a spunky cute little boy.

He felt his heart chip a little, allowing something foreign and warm to crawl into the small cracks. Tino stopped breathing for a second. This feeling, this internal warmth that seeped into his heart. It...felt...nice? Yes. Nice.

"I'm not crying, don't worry." Tino breathed deeply. He held the child's hand tighter and did his best to give a genuine smile.

"Don't lie... You're too pretty to lie... lies are for bad people..." The child's voice sounded stubborn and a bit doubtful. He sat up and wedged Tino's hands closer to his cheek, cradling it against his burning hot flesh, his eyes still fixed on Tino with a child's curiosity.

"Pappa...Is this my new Mamma...?" The hopefulness in the child's voice took Tino's solidity away, and he took a staggering breath. He looked sharply to the giant and saw with frustration that Berwalds head was bowed, his face not shown. He remained quite.

Tino looked back to the child with puzzlement. This child did not have a mother? As in, Berwald's wife was no longer in this world? Was she deceased? Tino blinked his violet eyes rapidly.

"H's not m' r'al son..." Berwald whispered in Tino's ears, making the Finn shutter a bit. Tino took a heavy breath of air before smoothing his hands over his knees, doing his best to remain clam and professional. He had a reputation, he was brought here to heal...Tino sighed with frustration and embarrassment...As well as do other things...

"I found h'm last y'ar on a raid... He was in an Eng'sh orph'n'ge th'at had been b'rned d'wn by N'rw'gi'n vikings... The man th're begged meh ta' t'ke 'em... I r'sed 'em as mah own..." Berwald answered, patting Peter affectionately on the head.

Tino couldn't help but noticed the loving look on Berwalds face as his gaze rested on his son. It made Tino feel the warm sensation at his heart grow stronger. Berwald was portraying himself as a kind man, and so far Tino believed him. But that did not mean he could finance a trip to come and claim him like some slave. No matter how needed the Finn was as a healer. Thats exactly what Tino was. A Healer. Not a Bride.

Tino turned back to the child and bit his lip. He could admit to being this child's new mother... He could either make the child cry, or tell a lie? Those were the only two options left for the Finn. Tino swallowed harshly.

"Yes... I will be your Mamma, at least till you're better, okay Peter? But you have to get better." Tino said sweetly. And he meant it. If playing Mommy was what it took to bring up this little child's morale, then Tino would do it till his heart broke from exhaustion. He may not like it, but anything was worth seeing this child happy and healthy again.

Berwald looked up, his face surprised and astonished. His eyes fixed themselves on the little Finn who was now smiling down at his son, an even bigger smile on the bushy browed child's face. Berwald felt his eyes soften. Did that mean Tino would be his wife, if even for a little bit? The small spark of hope was enough to light up Berwalds eyes. Tino. His wife had a cute little name.

"Momma's pretty..." Peter mumbled.

"Ja. Very pr'tty..." Berwald mumbled, his eyes fixed sweetly on Tino's pale a petite face. Tino looked up to Berwald with bewilderment, his face heating up with a loud red color.

Peter sniffed crudely once more before nestling his hands against Tino's neck before sliding his chubby fingers through the small Finn's matted hair, coming back with a bit of red flakes in his hands. The child's eyes went wide.

"Momma, whats this?" Peter asked, his voice still a bit strained and weak. Tino's eyes flashed to the child's hands. He held his breath when he saw small and rust covered flakes of blood in the little boys hands. It must have been the blood that flaked and matted Tino's hair when Mathias had clubbed his in the back of the head when they were still in Finland

Tino laughed nervously before taking the child's hands and wiping the dried blood away with the edges of his blue cloak.

"Oh! That must be the fairy dust that Nikolas sprinkled on me when I go here!" Tino mused, smiling and giggling to the English boy. Peter's eyes twinkled and his mouth formed a little silent 'o'.

Berwalds face turned to an even more heated glare. Who dared to touch his little Bride? Berwald would have them punished! No one hurt his little wife and got away with it!

"Faeries!" Peter shouted with excitement, but quickly coughed and collapsed back onto the bed, his face still holding wonderment.

Tino patted Peter down into the nest like bed, still keeping the covers off the little boy. Who knew how long ago it was before anyone had even changed the bedding or the hay in the cot? Tino knew from experience working with Nikolas that cleanliness and freshly aired out bedding was best for sick patients. Berwalds son would be no exception.

Tino smiled down at the child and spoke softly, sweetly.

"Yes Faeries! Nikolas is friends will all kinds of them! From the Finnish _Para_ to Norwegian _Ljósálfar_!"* Tino did his best to distract the boy while he combed his hair through his locks, trying to get rid of the dried blood that would soon turn a nasty brown in left uncleaned.

"Pappa said I'm protected by an _Alf_!"* Peter beamed, rubbing his sore and red nose. Tino smiled down at him and shuffled around with his hands till he found a scrap of clean cloth, its colors long since faded.

"Is that so? Whats your _veden väki's_ name? Here..."* Tino said, wiping the cloth underneath the boys nose. Peter giggled before shoving the cloth almost up his nose, his smiled so bright. Tino laughed. A genuine laugh.

Peter nodded furiously, making Tino chuckle once more.

" I named him Arthur! After the stupid-meanie-mean man who raised me at the orphanage!" Peter shouted with a childish grin. "Pappa says, when I'm a little older and better, he'll take me down to the streams where we can look for the _Bäckahäst_! But he says I can't ride it..."* Peter frowned dully, crossing his arms over his chest.

Berwald, his eyes staring at the back of Tinos head, noticing the blood and wondering how the little Finn got covered with it. But soon his anger dissolved, at least for now, and Berwald looked to his little son who was giving him the stink eye. Berwald chuckled.

"Th' _Bäckahäst _can not b' t'med P't'r... Ya kn'w that..." He patted Peter on the head but he just twisted in his bed, his face in a deeper pout. Tino sighed before placing his hands against the brightly dyed wool, as if the beds blankets had been picked by Peter simply because of their pretty and vibrant colors. Tino was betting they had.

"Pappa's right..." Tino muttered. He didn't exactly mind the effort in calling the Swedish viking 'Pappa' but he would only, ONLY, ever do it in front of Peter. Using it anytime else wasn't necessary, wasn't needed. Tino had to focus on getting this child well again. If playing house kept Peter happy and joyful, well then nothing in this world or the next was going to make him stop. No matter how much it annoyed the crap out of the little Finn.

"For the time that I'm here Peter, do what I say. I'll do everything I can to get you better again." Tino mumbled, still not meeting the giants eye. He wasn't exactly sure if he could trust the man, and no was not the time to test the waters. Berwald was a Swede and a Viking. Tino was a Finn and Medicinal healer. It wouldn't work.

Tino had seen and heard things today that made his trust of vikings grow, but... there was still things in his mind, stories, visions, and tales that he had experienced or been told of since he was young that warned him that vikings were ruthless. That they raped and pillaged, burned everything in thier path and killed anything with a pulse. Berwald didn't seem like one of those vikings, but one could never be sure.

"Momma isn't staying?" Peter asked with a hint of sadness to his little sea blue eyes. Tino carefully started to prod at the child's neck, massaging the pale and sticky with sweat skin, searching for any bruising or discoloration, so far he found none.

"We...havn't t'lked it over y't w'th Momma..." Berwald mumbled, taking a small peek at Tino. Tino blushed softly before looking away from the handsome face of the Swede.

"Later..." Was all Tino mumbled before returning his attention back to the sick child.

Tino's hands made their way to Peter's tummy where he heaved up the chemise and placed his hands softly on the boys stomach. Peter giggled softly but allowed his new Momma to lightly pinch his baby fat.

So far nothing seemed out of place...except...

Tino lifted up the chemise full way to expose Peter's skinny tummy peeking up from his little trousers. What he found was the sprawled blue dye of a rune scrawled on the soft flesh of Peters belly.* Tino ran his hands against the blue and crust dye of the pigment before really setting his eyes on the mark. The slanting three lined rune looked to be the handwriting of Nikolas and it made Tino smile, it was in the shape of the Nordic, 'Physical health' symbol. So far Nikolas had already diagnosed the illness at the root of the problem. The stomach.

Tino carefully worked around the flesh, pinching and touching, asking if this hurt here, or there? Only getting a giggle or a "that tickles!" from Peter.

"It looks like his illness is either the cause of his diet, or by something inside him..." Tino mumbled before sitting Peter up and reaching into a jar on the table filled with little tiny strips of white cloth. Tino plucked one from the clay jar and wrapped it around his finger.

"Wh't ya m'an... 'ins'de 'em'...?" Berwald grunted, his hands clasping one of Peters hands. Tino didn't look at the Swede in the eye but down cast his gaze.

"He could have some kind of creature growing in him, a worm or an insect. Has Peter been experiencing any nausea, diarrhea, or vomiting?"

Berwald paused before scrunching up his face.

"Di'rrh'a an' vom'tin', somet'mes w'th blood in tha' bile." Berwald whispered painfully. He looked to his son with sorrow filled eyes. Berwalds eyes reminded Tino greatly of a scared and timid rabbit, so vulnerable, so raw. Tino sighed before turning back to Peter, he did his best to smile in order to not alarm the little boy.

"Peter, I'm going to wipe this on your tongue, okay?" Tino asked, showing Peter his swab covered finger. Peter nodded and Berwald looked on, curiosity hinting at his features.

Tino bit his lip and placed the swab against Peter tongue and after a few seconds pulled it back. He looked at the swab closely. He had hoped the swab would have come out clean, but unfortunately it didn't. It came out sticky with phlegm and dots of red blood. Tino sighed. Peters recovery might take longer than Tino had originally thought.

"So far he has signs of fever, sore throat, runny nose, and stomach problems. For the time being, replace all of the blankets to his bed with fresh and crisp woolen ones. No furs are to be added, especially deer pelts as his illness could have been caused by a tick or worm in the animals fur. Also, replace all the hay with winter dried yellow hay. No green grass or fresh hay is to be stuffed into his bedding, once again worms or insects could be in the stalks of grass used in his nesting. Make sure the hay is soaked in water and dried before you use it. It would be for the best." Tino clasped Peters hands and gave it a friendly squeeze. Peter smiled and fidgeted restlessly.

"I'll make you better Peter, I promise!" Tino assured the little boy. Peter gave a goofy smile before nodding back at the Finn.

"Also, I'd like to take a look at your meat storage as well later on today... I think his diet might be the cause of his problem."

"Ya th'nk tha' meat 's tha' pr'blem?" Berwald asked quietly.

Tino sighed, already used to the Swedes harsh and guttural accent.

"I do. Your camp moves around a lot, judging by the makeshift tents and the lack of animal paddocks, which means you often move the meat and other stored foods with you. This could cause the meat to rot more quickly than the other supplies..." Tino trailed off.

Berwald stayed silent until he sighed. "Ya re'lly care... Don't ya..." Berwald murmured, his glare softening to a small smile. Tino felt his heart skip a beat.

He cleared his throat and nodded. "I care." And he meant it

Berwalds smile grew, his own face turning pink. This little Finn was so lovely and cute, strong and free willed. To top it all off, he actually cared about the well being of his son. Granted the Finn looked absolutely terrified of the Swede, but that happened to most people when they first met Berwald. Berwald couldn't help coming off strong and scary. It was just what he looked like. But hopefully, hopefully things would change. He liked his peace offering, liked him very much. Nikolas was right, his cousin was sweet and very helpful in the wart at medicine. Then it happened. Berwald made up his mind. He would convince Tino to be his wife, no matter what it took.

As much as Tino disliked being called 'momma', he would let the little sandy blonde haired boy call him as such. He would do his best to try and keep his eyes off of the tall and handsome Swede though. But he felt like getting attracted to Peter might be okay. Where was Tino really going to go? He certainly wasn't going to run away, plus Nikolas was here, and he couldn't bare to be apart from his cousin again. Plus, something in his mind told him that if he did dare to run away he wouldn't get very far. The Danes and Swedes would hunt him down like dogs. Tino bit his lip. He supposed he could stay here and live out the rest of his life. What harm could it do? As long as he didn't let his heart get swept up by sweet words and promises he would be fine. If anything, becoming the little boys mother might give Peter some boost in moral which could help him recover faster from his illness... Speaking of which.

"Peter? How about we get you cleaned up, hmmm?" Tino asked the little boy, helping him sit up from the confines of the sweat drenched bed. The little boy fidgeted but allowed his new momma to help him sit up at the edge of the bed, his legs swinging back and forth, a grin perched on his face, one of his baby teeth missing to form a goofy hole in his smile. It was simply darling.

Tino turned to Berwald and he softened his smiled to a hesitant look. He was still weary, he still didn't entirely trust this man, or at least didn't want to. Not yet.

"Can you help him over to that stool?" Tino asked, motioning with his eyes to the low set three legged stool that Berwald had been sitting on before. Berwald nodded and tucked his strong and powerful arms underneath Peter's lanky ones, heaving the child up to rest on his hip, his hands tucked underneath him to keep from falling. The child giggled before wrapping his small and pinkish hands around Berwalds neck. Like a proud and ferocious lion with his cute little cub.

After sitting the small little boy on the ceder wooden stool, the leather flaps of the hut were brushed aside and Mathias ever present grin greeted the three inhabitants. Mathias stooped in and held out a huge wicker basket fled to the brim with all the materials Tino had asked for, his other arm painstakingly carrying a wooden bucked that was jostled with steaming hot water. Tino frowned before scornfully ripping the contents from Mathias's arms and clearing a spot down on the herb littered table before setting the goods down lightly. Mathias's grin just widened and he set down a wooden tub of steaming hot water next to a sniffling Peter.

"Wow...You can cut the tension in here with a knife!" Mathias chuckled, his hands on his hips. Berwald and Tino growled together. Well, at least it was both established that neither of them really liked the damn Dane.

"Speaking of knife..." Tino muttered sourly underneath his breath. Mathias just chuckled.

"Guess what Uncle Mathias!" Peters voice hummed over the disapproving glares of Tino and Berwald. The bright blue eyed little boy did wonders to melt Tino's heart and fix his heated temperament.

"What _lille løve cub?"* _Mathias smiled, bending down on his knees to look the little kid in the eye. Peter ginned innocently.

"I have a new Momma!" Peter sing-songed as loud as he could before sneezing twice as loud. Tino fidgeted, his hands clutching the whittled down bar of lye soap and the wash cloth in a near death grip. Berwald cleared his throat before settling Peter down with some mumblings of Swedish words. Peter scrunched up his face but pouted.

"Well he issssss my Momma... He said so Pappa!" Peter whined to Berwald. Tino quietly patted Peters head, his nervousness returning like a rising thunderstorm, unpredictable and uneasy.

"Yes...Yes, Peter's right." Tino muttered softly, not looking Berwald in the eye. Even if he was to be Peter's "mother" He would not, NOT, accept being a vikings wife. Nothing could change him otherwise. Vikings were cruel, horrible, disgusting men. He was taught at an early age like the other children in his village to hate them and scorn them with good measure. A viking could not be trusted. Tino would take that rule to heart, even if Nikolas seemed to have forgotten it. Sure, Berwald was a bit scary, but he truly was nice. But. But he was still a Swedish viking, and Tino had only known him for an hour or two. Perhaps as time fades Tino and Berwald might become good friends, but he certainly would not marry the man. Tino bit his lip, his blush back in place. At least...He was pretty sure he wouldn't.

"Thats wonderful _lille løve cub_, I'm sure your new Momma loves you very much." Mathias chuckled darkly, his eyes flashing to Tino. Tino wanted to smack the man to the ground and feed him his own battle axe, blade first.

Tino knew he wasn't being forced to love this child, to be forced to heal him. He wanted to. He wanted to help this child see another bright summer, he wanted to see this child grow up strong and healthy, to be able to play and have fun with the rest of the healthy children.

Mathias had said it himself. If this child dies, then the Swedes and Danes would go to war, abandoning their peace agreements and common goal of pushing back the Russians. Tino did not want to be responsible for any more bloodshed, but he felt as if the entire stability of the two clans rested on his shoulders and his alone.

He bit his lip. He didn't want to be the only thing, the only person, keeping the Danes and Swede's at bay from tearing each others throats out like wild dogs. So far, he had no quarrel with the Danish people nor the Swedish. No, that had been resolved with the terrifying reality of the Russian traitors that muddled through his village. Tino would bare it and accept it. The Danish were justified in their killings. He hated to admit it, but if Nikolas said it was true then...it must be true.

When the raid happened a year a go, the only wounded had been adults, selected men and women. A few things had been stolen, but nothing much. Crops had been burned, live stock slaughtered, but once again, only those belonging to a few selected families. It made sense. Tino just hated to admit it. The Danes and Swedes were supposed to be the traitors, the villains. Not the other way around.

Tino would stay protect and heal the little boy. He would live among the Swedish tribes, as Nikoals did with the Danes. But it would take more than time to love that man with the sea green eyes. He wouldn't allow his heart to be so easily claimed like Nikolas's. If he was forced to marry than he was forced to marry. But it would take more than a handsome face and a nice body to make the Finn fall in love. The peace treaty be damned.

"Mathias..." Berwalds stern voice broke Tino's thinking. Tino looked up at the tall Swede and felt his stomach clench. He had to keep this man out of his thoughts! He had to keep his heart solid and strong. But he admitted it would be a challenge. The man already proved himself to be caring, considerate, and dare he say it? Sexy. Yes. The leader of the Lions Tribe was incredibly sexy.

Perhaps it was the danger that went with him. The fact that Tino was in the presence of an exotic creature, like a lion behind a cage. You knew it couldn't get to you, you knew you were safe. But that thought of it pouncing on you still crept into your mind. That lion could still snap its jaws through those bars and eat your throat out. Tino shivered.

Oh yes. Berwald was sexy and dangerous. The perfect combination. The fit and incredibly tall Swedish man had strong manly features, with a sharp jagged jawline and high cheek bones that made his eyes even more noticeable. It was like looking out of a stone castle window and getting and eyeful of the rough and rugged roaring sea. Tino shivered once again and wrapped his arms around him.

Tino was starting to feel the damnable heat creep up his face once more. He had hoped it would take more than good looks to break the Finns resolution, but so far, things were not looking good for the young Finn of nineteen winters.

Mathias grinned before bending his knees and standing up. He waved his hands through Peters hair, ruffling it up, making the child giggle. Berwald just glared.

"Se ya later _Løve Kone_!" He cackled before exiting the tarp. Tino sighed with relief at the Danes departure. He already hated the damned nickname already but feared that there was no way to get rid of it now. So, squatting down to the little sniffling boy he smiled and patted the boys hands.

"How about I give you a nice cleaning up, hmm? Pappa can help too." Tino muttered, edging his eyes to Berwald. Tino would play around a bit, test the waters, see if there was anyway he could maybe learn more about the man he was to apparently marry. Tino felt his heart lurch in his heart. Marry. Marry. MarryMarryMarry... Tino felt dizzy.

He was to be a wife. A wife of a viking. A Swedish viking. Tino rested his hand to his head and rubbed ferociously. Berwald looked up at him and grunted, worry in his eyes. Tino looked at the man and yelped quietly.

"Hee hee Momma made a doggy noise!" Peter quipped, gripping the sides of the stool before coughing slightly.

"Ow..." He mumbled, scratching his throat. Tino, his blush quieting, returning his brain back to helping the sick child. He fumbled with the bow on Peters nightgown, untying it.

"Peter, Pappa is going to remove your chemise and trousers and then we are going to give you a small bath, okay?" Peter nodded.

"Better take him outside. We don't want his huts floor to get wet." Tino muttered to Berwald after a second thought.

"'s m' hut..." Berwald spoke softly before picking up the wriggling little boy and setting him on his hip again. He heaved up the tub of hot water with the other hand like it was as light as a feather. Tino paused before grabbing the bundle of cloth, bowls, and soap.

"Its your hut?" Tino gasped. Tino looked to the right of him to see a small cot shoved up against one of the skeletal wooden beams of the leather tarp hut. The bed was so small and so uncomfortable looking that there was no way Tino would have ever thought that a famous and brutal tribe leader would ever consider sleeping on it.

"You slept next to your son while he was sick?" Tino ask, not even bothering to hide the bewilderment that seeped and filled his voice like a roaring river. Berwald nodded curtly.

"What if Peter had had an infection? Or something contagious like the plague? You could have gotten ill too!" The little Finn shouted with heated breath. Berwald turned around to loom in front of his face. The inklings of a smirk on his lips.

"Are ya w'rried 'bout me, m' w'fe?" Berwald hummed, his voice playful. Tino's eyes widened and his growled in frustration.

"I am not your wife damnit! I'm a boy!" He hissed. Berwald chuckled.

"Ya look l'ke a c'te lil' w'fe..." He mumbled. Peter nodded vigorously.

"Yep, Yep! Pappa's right! Momma is pretty! Like a Fairy!" Peter sing-songed. Tino's eyebrow twitched but he willed himself to stay calm. He would give the Swede a piece of his mind later.

Berwald untied the latches that held the tent closed and pushed it open. Tino stormed outside and almost immediately, all the noise and commotion that he had heard outside had quieted, leaving everything still and silent.

A man who was leading his pony by the reigns abruptly stopped and bowed low to the ground, taking off his hat, his pony whinnying. A small group of children playing with some firewood kindling as swords and grass dolls stopped their laughter and immediately smiled before curtsying or bowing. A few women rotating a spit with a leg of dark red lamb meat cooking on the coals stopped from rotating the spit to bow, picking up their skirts. Tino dropped the wicker basket filled with scraps on the floor were he stood, noticing that Berwald had long since abandoned the bucket of hot water.

Every man, women and child, be they Danish or Swede stopped what they were doing in a heart beat and bowed, low to the ground, like withering stalks of wheat left to dry in the crisp Autumn air. It left Tino amazed and a bit astonished. Tino saw Mathias and Nikolas in the crowd.

The Dane waved and smiled smugly, Nikolas's eyes nuertal, his hands holding Björt to his chest. Mathias and Nikolas quickly bowed before joining in standing to the right of Berwald. Nikolas had changed and was now wearing a dark navy blue tunic with a silver encrusted belt, little Bjöt in a bright red and blue tunic, wide eyed and giggling. Mathias had changed as well, his dark red cloak still in place, but the hide of a wolf thrown over his shoulder, the skinned animals teeth still in place still sharp. It reminded Tino of the Danes barbaric grin. Tino growled irritably.

"You must be really liked by your people." Tino muttered, inching close to the Swede, feeling more secure by his side than the Danes oddly enough. A thicker more solid group of people began to surface around the tent, their eyes bright, smiles on their faces. Each one spoke bits and pieces of Swedish and Danish, most of which Tino could not understand. Berwald simply smiled.

"There not b'wing fer' meh..." Berwald mused, his head held high, Peter still clutching onto his Pappas neck. Tino froze and looked over at the sea of people. All of the villagers blue or jade eyed, with pale or bright golden hair. All of them, gazing with intent at Tino. He nearly shit himself on the spot.

It was Mathias who first stepped forward, his battle axe in place, held high.

"Let it be known all through the land! The Danes and the Swedes shall fight as brothers on the battle field! We will crush the invaders and claim back our land! _Alle hagl Ulvene og Løverne!"* _Mathias shouted uproariously and thrust his battle axe. All throughout the rows of tents and huts people cheered wildly, men roared, women clapped and children jumped up and down chaotically. Next it was Berwald who stepped forward.

Immediately everything grew quiet again and all eyes fixed on the Swedish leader. Berwald placed Peter down and the little boy scampered over to Tino and clutched at his Tino. Tino blinked a few times but remember his role as Momma. He picked up the frail child and held him to his hip. Every eye sparked. Tino had a bad feeling about this.

_"Nu kan du se honom! Din Damen av Lejon! Han kommer att hålla fred mellan de svenska och danska. Vi är bröder nu mot en gemensam fiende! Hagel till Damen Lejon!"*_ Berwalds voice roared out with such ferocity that Tino jumped from shock. He looked across the Swedes face and saw pride, love, and bravery all painted across his usually stern and frightening glare. It made Tino tense and, looking to Mathias, he saw the mans face grinning wildly, his battle axe raised high. It was only then that Tino noticed Berwald had pulled out a huge sword that seemed to weigh more than little Peter. Together the two men raised their weapons and shouted loudly over the villiage, over the trees, over the mountains, cliffs and valleys.

"All hail the Tribe of the Northern Lions! All hail to the Tribe of the Southern Wolves!" Berwald and Mathias growled out, their faces showing brutality and strength. Then, Berwald turned to Tino and soon Peter was gingerly placed into the arms of a woman, along with Björt. Tino stared in puzzlement as Nikolas gently tugged on Tinos tunic sleeve, pulling the Finn forward next to Berwald. Nikolas's face remained neutral but he whispered "I'm sorry" into Tino's ears. Tino's eyes widened.

In an instant, Tino was pulled against Berwalds chest and Nikolas was pulled to Mathias. The two taller men, weapons still raised, faced the crowd.

"Th' p'ace has been m'de. Let the _Damen Lejon_ lead us ta' v'ctory!"* Berwald shouted. He threw his sword to the floor and it sank into the ground, the tip of its blade still shaking. Mathias hiked his axe behind his head before bringing it down, hard, onto the ground. Both the tribes cheered madly.

What happened next Tino was not prepared for. As soon as the sword left the bearish hands of the might Swede, Tino was heaved upward by the strong and gentle arms of the Swede. Tino's eyes widened and he fought and kicked, his face heating up as if a flame had been lit underneath his chin. He looked next to him and saw that Mathias had picked up Nikolas too, only Nikolas was not struggling. Dare he say, he was actually...Smiling?

And then it happened.

Tino watched as Mathias crushed his lips to his cousins in a dominating and victorious kiss, weaving his strong hands into Nikolas's soft and pale blonde hair. The crowed went wild. Tino sputtered, his eyes widening at the shameless sight displayed before him.

Was Nikoals mad? What was it? Piss off Tino day? Tino glared at the two next to him before realizing something. He looked down and saw Berwald's face, smiling, smirking almost. Tino felt his heart lurch, his head spinning and his heart beating wildly in his chest.

Oh no. Oh no. Ohnononnononononononnonnoo.

Tino pushed against the Swedes shoulders, craning his neck as far away as he could from the Swede's head, from the Swedes lips. He knew what was about to happen. And he would fight it to his last breath. But...Being the obviously weaker one out the two, he was quickly subdued.

All around Tino, the roars and shouts reached his ears. "Lady Lion! Lady Lion!" Tino shut his eyes tight and felt a calloused hand, wide palms and slender fingers brush gently against his hair. Tino bit his lip and made a small squeaking noise, similar to a mouse.

Then it happened.

Hesitantly, cautiously, a brush of warm lips grazed against Tinos in a sweet brush of loving willingness. All of the sudden a spark, a jolt of lightning seemed to hit the Finn and his heart began to thump and his body suddenly hummed with warmth. It felt wonderful, amazing, and oh-so-dangerous.

Tino cracked open his eyes and met with Sea green ones that looked like they had been stolen off of a lusty jungle cat. Tinos face heated up and his heart beat with the ferocity of a drum, loud and wild, primitive and strong. Tino shut his eyes tight and did something that he feared he would regret for the rest of his life.

He clutched the back of the Berwalds head and crashed his lips against him harder.

The Peace Treaty be damned.

...

Haha Tino, your fucked now! I'm sorry if the emotions seemed rushed guys! I just need to keep it moving! I keep forgetting the time zone from America to Scandinavia is very different, so I didn't get to talk to my two translators online as much as I'd like to, so the ending Swedish and Danish dialogue is probably wrong. REVIEW! SHOWER ME WITH LOVE LIKE TINO WILL SOON SHOWER BERWALD WITH SEX! (Tee-Hee Oh my)

Authors Notes:

-""What can I do for ya', _Prinsessan_?"* Mathias chuckled darkly." **-"Princess" In Swedish**

- ""Bye bye _Løve Kone_! Hope ya have fun with your new husband!"*"- **"Lion wife" in Danish**

-""Yes Faeries! Nikolas is friends will all kinds of them! From the Finnish _Para_ to Norwegian _Ljósálfar_!"*"- **A "**_**Para**_**" was a Finnish spirit who was belived to bring good wealth to farmers who fed and harboured them. A 'Ljósálfar' was the name given to the 'lighter Elves' or the good Elves.**

-""_Pappa said I'm protected by an Alf_!"*"** - "Alf" is the Swedish term for a male Elf.**

"-""Is that so? Whats your _veden väki'_s name? Here..."*"- **a "**_**veden väki**_**" was a water Elf who deals with healing powers.**

-"Pappa says, when I'm a little older and better, he'll take me down to the streams where we can look for the _Bäckahäs_t! But he says I can't ride it..."*-**a "**_**Bäckahäst**_**" translates to "brook horse" is a famous Mythical beast. It is a beautiful white horse that lures riders onto its back. But once the rider is securly on, they can never get off, so the horse roams into the water and drowns the rider. Cool huh?**

-"What he found was the sprawled blue dye of a rune scarwled on the soft flesh of Peters belly.*"- **Runes are an alphabet that was used most commonly in Norwegian and British history; they are still used today by Pagans everywhere, though they are mostly associated with the use of magic now. **

-"_What lille løve cub_?"*" **-"Little lion cub" in Danish**

-""Let it be known all through the land! The Danes and the Swedes shall fight as brothers on the battle field! We will crush the invaders and claim back our land! _Alle hagl Ulvene og Løverne_!"*"- **"**_**Alle hagl Ulvene og Løverne**_**!"- "All hail the wolves and lions" -Danish**

-""_Nu kan du se honom! Din Damen av Lejon! Han kommer att hålla fred mellan de svenska och danska. Vi är bröder nu mot en gemensam fiende! Hagel till Damen Lejon!"_"- **Long and inccorrect translation is inncorrect and long! "Now you see him! Your Lady of the Lion! He will keep the peace between the Swedish and Danish. We are brothers now against a common enemy: Hail to the Lady Lions.!"-Swedish**

-"_Damen Lejon_"- **"Lady Lion" in Swedish. **


	3. Will you be my wife?

**Hey guys! Another reminder, this story is going to have some blood and sex, and spit fire Tino (if you like moe Finn, maybe this story isn't for you) so just a heads up! Also, thank you for the many reviews and support that this story has gotten so far, especially from GrammarNazi101, your critic and review was incredibly valued!**

**I screwed up with Tino's emotions with rushing them, so I'll try to clean it up a bit. Thank you to my three Swedish/Finnish translators, MalinChan, yotizie, and Ruusu! Much love to you guys! ONCE AGAIN, THIS FIC IN NOT HISTORICALLY ACCURATE! REVIEW OR THE DOLPHINS WILL STEAL MAH BRAIN! Oh shit this story is hard to write with angry pissed off Tino...grrr damn you conflicting emotions!**

...

Tino's ears were drumming violently with a vibrating noise similar to a bees angry hum. His eyes were shut so tight that it hurt with a clenching pinch and he was almost positive that his fingers had grown numb and bone white from gripping onto something solid and warm. His lungs burned and his heart was beating like a wild war horse set loose through a heated battle field. Confused and delirious, nervous and slightly scared. Scared? Yes, Tino was scared.

He had done something that went against everything he had ever known. He had kissed the Swedish viking, the one person that he was taught to despise and to hate with fluid anger. It hurt his heart deeply, like a raging flood carving relentlessly into a soft soiled valley, destroying and scraping. His head was spinning and flooding with warmth that felt too good to be true.

His heart would not stop in its viscous constricting hold on his emotions. It stung and made it hard to breathe. Soon, with the help of him coming to his senses Tino pulled back like a reigned in horse, wide eyed and in shock. His throat became dry when he met with those solid and heavy staring eyes, sea green and dogmatic like a heavy laden storm across a field of green. Tino swallowed harshly, willing his lungs to devour as much air as they could.

"I...I..." Tino scrambled over his words with fright, his face a bright and hellish red. He furrowed his brows in nervousness and kicked weakly in the gentle and soft embrace that held him to a solid and warm chest.

The kiss had felt wonderful, sweet, and soft, but that was what terrified him most. Vikings were not supposed to be gentle and kind, they were supposed to be rough and cruel! It was this clash of emotions that seemed to stun Tino into a stupor, a battle of inner conflict. But sadly the emotional side won the battle fiercely with a sharp pang to his slowly warming heart.

Tino shook his head wildly, the first bought of tears stinging his cheeks bitterly. He cried out loudly and pressed against the Swede's shoulders, watching with a sudden urge of sadness as those once happy eyes turned confused and almost saddened. Tino shut his eyes and kicked violently, falling onto the floor, the hard ground smacking against his knees with pain. He breathed violently, hearing the shouts of happiness and joy disperse from the infested clearing.

Hands stopped their maddened waving, smiles dissipated and were replaced with frowns, children's innocent giggles were scattered away into the air, handfuls of flowers fell to the ground, the happiness all but drained. And all Tino could do was look into those wonderful sea green eyes, anew with crushed hope and sadness, and weep.

"I...I can't like you...! I...I'm supposed to hate you!" Tino cried out, his cheeks aflame with red. He bit off his cry with the air bitterly, his fingers clenched to his sides. He was confused. Warm and confused, a dangerous combination. The kiss had sparked so many things inside him, had felt so natural and right... but it also felt conflicting and dangerous. It left Tino suddenly exposed and vulnerable and he didn't like it. Ever since Nikolas had left him a year ago he had done his best to harden himself, make himself tough and stubborn...But those lips, they were like a key that had unlocked something, something that Tino wasn't sure if he wanted open.

"T'no..." Berwald breathed out but Tino shook his head and looked down at the floor, anything was better than looking into those eyes that made him shudder and feel things that he shouldn't. Those eyes that caressed his heart so sweetly, that made his face blush and his breath grow hot. Those eyes that made him feel the damnable emotion of...What? What emotion was it? What was the Finn feeling that made every fiber of his being scream out, that made his head dizzy and his knees weak, that caused his heart to beat wildly and his cheeks to turn crimson? What emotion?

Tino bit his lip, the true onslaught of the salty tears trailing down his face. He didn't know what he was feeling for the Swede. He knew it felt different and strange, anxious and raw, but he just couldn't for the life of him name it. Tino, blubbering like a little child looked up at Berwald and wiped his eyes with the heel of his hands. He didn't know if this was the right choice, but for now this was what it was going to have to come down to.

" I may be your _Damen Lejon_..." Tino bit out weakly, the hot tears getting the better of him. "I may be your healer...But if you want me as your wife, then you better damn well earn it! Not with kisses, not with strength, but with your kindness. Prove to me that you're different, prove to me that I shouldn't just run away into the forest and let the wolves eat me." Tino snapped out bitterly, turning his body backward with heated emotions flying from his heart like stinging knives thrown to the air. Tino sobbed once more before looking back to stare Berwald right in the eyes. Those sea green eyes.

"Prove to me that you actually, truly, devotedly, love me." He mumbled weakly, swallowing his pride.

Berwald's face, wide eyed and confused, suddenly grew stern and serious. The Swede nodded but made no move to catch Tino's hands and bring him back to his chest, to his warm arms. Tino half wanted the man to. He hated to admit it but Berwald had been a breath of fresh air from the frightening stories he had been told of when he was young. Berwald was different... At least Tino thought. He had only known the man for a few hours, who was he to make a decision based on the little time they had spent together? He gritted his teeth, planting his feet against the strange and muddied soil he ran for the closest tent available, a smaller, more humble looking one that had yellow and blue symbols drawn beautifully on the leather, fluttering flags decorating the top like streaming sunlight that had been plucked from the sky.

Tino made a mad dash for the shelter, his feet trampling on flowers and ribbons that had lined the streets when the villagers were celebrating. Now everyone just looked lost. But Tino didn't pay any attention to them. Right now all he wanted to do was curl up into a little ball and cry. That was good enough for him.

He wasn't entirely sure what he felt for the Swede. If it was a kindness, a pity, a likeness, or perhaps even... Tino swallowed thickly. If Berwald wanted a wife, it would take more than a nice body to acquire one from the Finn. Tino would make the Swede prove that he really cared for the little Finn and did not just want him for a meaningless trophy. If Berwald didn't love Tino, than the little Finn would never ever marry the man, at least not consensually. He would continue to fight with his last bated breath to claw away from the Swede! But... If he did actually have good intentions, and actually loved him, well... Tino was sure that he could never truly love the man fully, but he could learn to, couldn't he? Berwald was a big burly viking and Tino was a small, impish little healer who knew nothing of the outside world. There was no telling what the Gods had in store for their future, that thought alone left Tino frightened and in an emotional bundle of nerves.

If Tino had any, any little spark of attraction to the Swede that was not entirely due to his nice body and gentleness, then Tino would consider this proposal. But right now all that he wanted to think about was keeping little Peter alive to see another day, or many more innocent people would die by the two leaders hands. Tino felt his lungs give out and another wave of guilt, pity, terror, confusion, anxiety, and even weakness flow through him. This was too much. All of this was too too too much.

Tino shivered, feeling the tears wrack his body once more. He liked the Swede he really did, but Berwald was a viking, and that would not be forgotten lightly. But the Swede seemed very persistent in marrying Tino. Tino sighed, his lungs aching and lurching with the sharp intake of breaths.

The words had already been said, the Finn could not take them back. Even though his heart still screamed and his eyes still stung with ferocious tears, Tino would have none of it. This was his decision. He might not like it now, but soon he would. At least, he thought. He hoped with sadness that he was right. If Berwald wanted him, he would have to show himself different from the barbarian vikings, or else Tino would fight to the death against being his damnable wife till the very end.

Tino's legs shook from underneath him as he sought out with shaking breath the smaller hut, watching as people, shocked and confused moved out of his way. Tino pushed the flaps from the hut with a wild jerk and stumbled inside, falling down on a big four poster empty bed. He crawled up it desperately, like an injured dog licking his wounds before throwing his weight down against the sheep skins and woolen blankets dyed a dull brown.

He smashed his face into the covers and felt all the hurt, confusion and pain welt out from his heart to pour out from his eyes in tears that stung and blistered. He didn't care who saw, who heard, he would cry his little heart out because he was scared. Scared of the emotion that had now crept into his heart and rooted itself in his mind. He would never get rid of them. The damnable feelings were planted and embedded deep into the red flesh of his heart. It was that alone that made the tears scream from his face in waves.

Tino felt the look of those sea green eyes before his vision once more. With an exhausted breath he began to softly cry himself to sleep into the warm folds and furs of the bed, too tired to even think of anything but those eyes.

Those eyes that made him feel unreasonably safe, yet scared. Oh so scared. Scared of an emotion he could now regrettably name. Love. He was slowly falling in love with Berwald. And that alone frightened him more then anything.

...

"Tino...Tino?" A soft and worried voice pressed and seeped into Tino's ears lightly, like the caresses of spring water down a moss covered rock. Tino winced, opening his mouth to lick at his lips, only to notice that his tongue was as dry as a piece of rye bread. He smacked his chapped lips feverishly and cracked one of his eyes open, feeling the beginning's of a headache ravage through his brain.

He let out a quite moan of discomfort at the sudden blare of light from the waxen candles glaring into his vision. He shook his head softly, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth, trying to stop the persistent drumming through his head. He sighed suddenly when he felt the soft caress of a hand petting his hair, making him take a big intake of breath through his nose. Tino mumbled before his vision focused on the worried and pitied face of Nikolas, stooping low before, him, sitting on the edge of the bed that Tino was half heartily in. Tino's mouth bit into a growl.

"You knew this would happen..." He cried out weakly, the inklings of his tears forming near the edges of his watery violet eyes. Nikolas frowned before sliding his cool fingers against Tino's forehead. Tino leaned into the touch, sighing with anguish.

"I didn't handle that as well as I should have..." Tino mumbled out, his voice still bitter. Nikolas did his best to smile.

"Hmm... Lets see, you embarrass the leader of the Norther Lions tribe in front of his people, run like a little girl crying into a royal tent, and then sleep in till eight at night... No, you didn't handled it well. You handled it horribly." Nikolas muttered half jokingly, doing his best to keep his cousin from spiraling down into tears again. Tino smiled sourly.

"You shouldn't have brought me here." Tino sighed. His head was throbbing in the back of his skull, the ware of the day having already taking it toll, chipping off Tino's strength and sanity like a rock to an arrow head.

"I would have rather had my head split open by a Russian sword than to go through that again...It's not fair...I'm feeling things that I'd ever imagine I'd ever feel..." Tino mumbled, rolling on his stomach and sitting upward, his elbows weak from exhaustion. Nikolas sighed and wrapped the blankets tighter against Tino's tummy and chest.

Tino felt miserable. He had been kidnapped, found out that his village had been full of traitors, become the wife of a viking, had his first kiss stolen by said viking, and then had run like a little girl with his tail between his legs, only to come to the conclusion that maybe he was already developing feelings for the damnable man.

Tino groaned tiredly before running his hands through his hair. He bit his bottom lip and hugged at his knees, watching as the dull and boring blankets began to pull tighter around his body, hugging him. Nikolas sighed sadly before reaching next to him and lifting up a glazed clay mug, some sweet smelling steam floating from the top of the beverage. Nikolas nudged it into Tino's hands and the Finn accepted it half heartily. He held it to his lips and sniffed cautiously. It was hot boiled water that had been doused with honey and a few chunky bits of white willow bark and dried camomile buds, Tino's favorite.* He drank it down without a final though marveling in the pungent sticky sweetness of the drink.

Once he was done with thirstily drinking the entire cup, Nikolas held out a small wooden plate crammed with bits of food. Tino eyed it curiously before hearing his stomach growl hungrily, demanding nourishment. Tino, his tears drying up on his bone pale face, took the offered plate and began to eat, picking up the heel of some dark and moist bread that smelled faintly citrus like. Tino nibbled at the edge of the bread before smiling, liking the taste of it very much.

"This is good, what is it?" Tino asked, taking a whole bite and chewing thoughtfully. He would do anything to distract himself from his currant predicament, anything.

The bread was a bit sticky on his fingers, evidence of thick and sluggish molasses that had been mixed in with the yeast. He ate the last of the wedged and licked each digit clean, marveling in the taste.

"It's called limpa, a Swedish bread that was baked just today for the wedding."* Nikolas smirked, scooping a finger on his own wooden plate, laden with just fruits and boiled vegetables.

Tino made a disgusted and puckered face before sticking his tongue out with horror, pushing the plate as far away from himself as he possibly could, balancing it on his blanketed legs that were now beginning to feel stiff.

"Ugh! I hate Swedish food!" he whined hotly. Nikolas scoffed, munching slowly on a bit of apple, the red fruit encrusted with a huge bite mark in it, juice dribbling slightly down its vibrant flesh.

"You don't hate the food, you just hate that its Swedish." Nikolas stated smugly, his opaque eyes covering up his emotions nicely, like a shroud placed over his mind, caressing and form fitting, it hid it all behind that mask of coolness.

"Speaking of Swedish... What happened while I was out?" Tino mumbled sourly, grabbing at a small little bowl that had a helping of peppery potato soup, little flakes of bright green herbs swimming in the thick mixture. Tino brought the bowl to his lips and slurped loudly, sighing with happiness as the thick and hot mixture slid down his throat. Oh how he missed wonderful sensation of a full and content belly.

Nikolas sighed before setting down the now ravaged apple core, picking up the bulky body of a roasted squash, drizzled with honey and a few flakes of milk. Nikolas nibbled at the orange gourd before looking Tino in the eye. The Finn sat up and took another sip of his soup.

"After you so heatedly ran from Berwald, he had to confront the village and assure them that everything was all right and that you would still stay with the tribe and be a healer to his son. He had a long hour talk with Mathias and the Danish tribe as well, repeatedly telling them that the peace treaty was still solid and that they had nothing to worry about." Nikolas sighed wearily, looking Tino straight in the eye. Tino flinched slightly.

"You caused a lot of trouble for the two tribes, especially Berwald." Nikolas stated seriously, his eyes relentless in their attempt to bore into Tino's head. Tino looked down at his lap, the scratchy wool warm and snugly against his aching legs.

"Good." He muttered out softly, his bottom lip jutting out in a stubborn pout. Nikolas rolled his eyes before taking the bowl from Tino's clenched fingers.

"Tino, I'm sorry I got you into this mess, it was either this or you would have been killed. I'm satisfied to say that I believe I made the right choice. But its time you start thinking about this seriously!" Nikolas barked out, his blue eyes growing irritable, like a thin layer of ice on a pond that breaks under weight, cracking and plunging its victim into the freezing water. Tino flinched and shrugged his shoulders up.

"I have thought about it seriously... I gave Berwald a choice, I'll be his wife if he proves to me that he truly loves me..." Tino muttered out gingerly, his breath not able to hold the intensity of spite that it once did. Nikolas breathed out sharply, flicking his hands against a low set table, setting the clump of squash down.

"Tino, I know this is hard for you, you're in the same situation that I was a year ago, but you have to realize the importance of your choices. You have responsibility now! Your duties are to take care of Peter and raise him as your own and to be Berwald's partner. That is all." Nikolas breathed out, sitting up straighter. Tino mentally thanked Nikolas for using the word 'partner' instead of 'wife' it did wonders to relieve some tension from between his eyes.

"I am not some concubine Nikolas. If I marry Berwald it will be because of love." Tino growled out, chewing lazily on some feverfew leaves, trying to ward off the migraine in his head.* Nikolas shut his eyes and breathed out through his nose.

"Let me tell you something. When I was being dragged off by Mathias a year ago, I was clubbed over the head and woke up in a bed of furs and hay, with Mathias's naked arms wrapped around me. It was the most terrifying and frighting moment in my life." Nikolas said, his voice stern and solid.

"What did you do?" Tino asked, pausing in chewing the green leaf between his teeth.

Nikolas smirked slightly. "I kicked him in the groin and ran for my life. It took four guards and a whole three yards of rope just to catch me and bring me back..." Nikolas paused before sighing and grasping Tino's hands tightly. "I learned to cope Mathias, and after the first month, I was head over heels in love with the idiot, though I'd never admit that to him or anyone else but you..." Nikolas grumbled.

Tino looked down at the covers of the bed, lightly squeezing his cousin's fingers in his, trying his best to keep calm and not cry out like a little infant weaned of its mothers milk.

"Nikolas...Whats going to happen to me?" Tino asked, his voice harsh and thick from the watery tears now sliding from his face. Nikolas shut his eyes tighter and held his cousin close to him, letting Tino's hands bury themselves in Nikolas's holiday robe, the Finn's fingers desperately clinging to the Norwegian for comfort.

"You will become a bride Tino, you have no choice in that. But you can control a bit of your destiny as well. If you don't want to do certain things that are expected of you, then you don't have to. As long as you have the title of wife, and keep Peter alive, no one can do anything against your wishes, you are the _Damen Lejon_, your word is just as powerful as Berwald's now. " Nikolas kissed the top of Tino's feather like hair and squeezed him into a tight hug, feeling Tino's tears stain his shoulder and collar bone.

"I'm sorry Tino, but this is what the Gods have chosen for your path. They work in wondrous and mysterious ways, they do things for the good and for the bad, none of it we can change or fully understand. I'm sorry but this is your life now." Nikolas gasped out into the now smokey shelter. The candlelight flickered madly against the tent walls, illuminating fox and rabbit skins that had been left to tighten and dry until they could be properly used as clothing. A low cute mirror leaned against one of the skeletal beams of the tent, the glint form the waxed candles setting off shivers of light.

The young Norwegian sighed as he combed his fingers through Tino's sweat drenched hair. Nikolas was having his own trouble trying to melt away the soft patter of tears that began to fall from his face. This was the exact same path that he had to walk, he knew how hard it was and how it tried ones soul, but Tino would not be alone for this journey. Nikolas would help him with anything the Finn needed. Tino would survive this. Nikolas was sure of it.

Nikolas knew Berwald would take good care of the little Finnish man, he knew that the Swede had actually fallen in love with the Finn before he even saw his violet eyes and innocent face. Nikolas had watched and pondered the Swede's infatuation with the Finn even before he ever laid eyes on his little cousin.

As soon as Nikolas had proposed the idea of contacting Tino a few weeks ago, Berwald had agreed to it reverently, making preparations well into the first day that Nikolas had brought it up. Nikolas could even safely say that he saw a real smile, no matter how small and soft on the Swedish barbarians face whenever Nikolas would mention his cousin. At that moment, Nikolas knew from the bottom of his heart that Berwald would be the best choice for Tino's husband. The Swede would keep him happy and safe. The giant of a man would love him with all his lion heart.

"Tino... I know this is against your choices now, but, with time, you will come like this life." Nikolas mumbled, his eyes gazing against the walls of the tent. Tino lifted his head from his cousin's shoulder, his nose runny and red, his cheeks stained with quickly drying tears, making his face itch. Tino focused his eyes on the table, the honeyed wood of the furniture looking beautiful and sturdy, as if it had been made by a fine craftsmen.

"I will embrace it one day, I'm sure... But I am still scared. I always thought I would live out my days in the small hut by the creek, healing the elderly and bandaging the knees of careless children. I did not think I would be in the middle of a Swedish encampment, forced to be the bride of a Viking..." Tino sighed sourly. He was tired, upset, dirty, and wanted nothing more that to sleep for days in the warm confines of the big bed. "

"I have no clue what the Gods have in store for me, but if this is the beginning of my journey, then who am I to fight it...?" Tino sighed out angrily. He felt bested, defeated. He would be married and that was that, Nikolas had told him so. But Nikolas had also told him that he needn't do anything that he didn't want to. Tino had to be married, but no one had told him when, or where. Tino didn't have to completely give himself up to the lions in their den, waiting with hungry jaws and snapping teeth. Tino could go at his own pace, let the lions nibble on his finger, gnaw at his wrist, chew on his arms and shoulders before they consumed his entire body and heart. He could go at his own pace and no one could go against him. He was Damen Lejon. The Lady Lion.

"I'm not saying you have to accept it all now, it took weeks for me to be comfortable with this immediate and sudden change. I'm not asking for you to discard your beliefs and your emotions over night. But please, think about it. Berwald I'm sure already holds strong feelings for you in his heart, and in time you will too." Nikolas assured the younger boy, his eyes finally cracking away at the mask, soft drops of emotion dripping down. Tino rubbed his nose and nodded weakly.

From outside Tino could hear the roaring party outside, the noise drifting over the small and scrawny huts and well over the monstrous mountains. The clinking of clay jugs and golden horns of mead and watered wine, the smells of roasting deer and duck, the sour and musty smell of baking bread all wafted in from the flaps of the tent to settle underneath Tino's nose, making his mouth water.

A least Tino knew the people were kind. They had seemed to welcome their leaders choice for a bride without a second thought, even though Tino was male.* Tino smiled grimly. Well of course, Berwald was a great and powerful man to the tribes, he was the leader, he could damn well do whatever he pleased without any repercussions. If he wanted to marry a man, he could marry a man. But now Tino had a bit of power as well. He would have to ask Nikolas later what the details of a 'Damen Lejon' were, but so far, if it gave him some type of diplomatic power, then he was more than delighted.

It would take a bit more for the sting of the situation to wear off, but in time Tino would heal from the shock and damage and be able to tolerate being married to the man. Tino only hoped Berwald was as kind and gentle as he had appeared to be today. Tino had heard wicked stories, telling that the Swedish vikings raided and pillaged peaceful villages and raped any woman, or even man that they could find. It left Tino's blood run cold with fright. But once again, so far almost everything he had been told of the vikings was a lie. Maybe Nikolas was right, maybe the Barbarians were just like Tino, trying to survive, trying to make what they could out of the rough land and the overbearing sea. Tino shut his eyes from exhaustion, the initial shock of today bearing down hard over his head and shoulders.

Tino sat up and strained his ears to listen the on goings outside the hut. A few seconds later the melodies of a pair of panpipes, woodwind flute, and a collection of harps danced along into the hut with gaily glee. Tino sighed and laid his head back down on the hay stuffed pillow, smelling the sweetness of the straw and the sourness of the flaxen blankets.

He wished he was back home.

He missed his little simple hut that Nikolas, Björt, and him used to all share, all crowed and smashed side by side into the cozy hay loft. He missed the silver fish that jumped and spawned in the river, fat and lazy, they made a perfect catch and an even better meal during the warm summer months. He missed the bonfires during Valborg, and the marriages in spring.* He missed searching for little dwarfs and giant trolls along the tree roots with Björt, making the little babe squeal and laugh with happiness when they came across a bush fattened with blackberries. He missed it all, and he would never get it back.

He was like a wild pony that had been caught, wrangled, and saddled with scratchy rope and a cold iron bit. He hated it. But Nikolas told him he would get used to it. He would learn to be a wife, a mother, and a...A what? Was he a Queen? A princess? A mistress? What were his duties as Damen Lejon? Tino sighed sickly and rolled over on his belly, his mouth in an upset scowl, eyes annoyed.

He would live this destiny, he had no choice, but he would not be entirely happy about it. Until Berwald proved that he really cared, that it was really okay for the Finn to love back without getting hurt, then Tino would be happy. He was scared, frightened. He had never fallen in love, never had a suitor, never had a gentlemen caller. He had no knowledge of love other than the fact that he was slowly feeling inklings of it for Berwald. That stung. Tino was already falling for a man that he barely even knew. Whose to say the Swede even cared about Tino? What if Tino was just a rarity, a trophy, something exotic from a far away land that only had a place in the mans bed? Tino blushed fiercely, willing his heart to stop its maddening drumming.

Tino could distinctly hear the laughter and shouts from the people outside, all happy, drinking and probably congratulating their new leader. Tino shoved his face deeper into the scratchy pillow that smelled like pine shavings and freshly melted snow. Tino inhaled the mildly familiar scent, letting it fill his starved and withered lungs. Whoever this bed belonged to, Tino hoped to the Gods that they didn't mind him sleeping in it. The Finn had just kind of barged in, hopefully he would be forgiven.

Tino's ears picked up the loud and sluggish voice of Mathias, shifting from his natural tongue of Danish to English, to sloppy, barely decipherable Swedish. Tino rolled over to look at Nikolas who had been staring at Tino the entire time, his breathing quite, eyes rolling into their navy colored stormy luster.

"Tino, you've had a long day. I think you should get some more sleep, it will help your headache." Nikolas murmured. He helped Tino shuffle out of his wrinkly tunic and robes, letting Tino untie the belt from his waist and pull off his trousers with stealth, leaving the Finn bare and naked in the frothy waves of cloth. It was too hot to sleep in a chemise anyway, Tino thought wearily, already disliking the warm Swedish nights in the strange land.

Nikolas tucked Tino in like he used to when they were little. When they used to sleep in the cozy and itchy hay loft, listening to the breath of the night wind as it hushed against the trees, and the trickle of the creek shining under the moon. Tino nodded wearily before snuggling against the warm and toasty covers, squishing his toes back and forth in the froth of sheep skins and wooly blankets. At least the Swedish knew how to pack and make a bed Tino thought sourly.

"Tomorrow Berwald is going to show you the meat storage while I'm attending to the wounded soldiers. When you're with him, don't back talk, don't argue, and don't run away crying like a little girl. Try to act like the cute little Finn I know and love." Nikolas smiled softly, teasingly. He lifted up the empty and dirty wooden plates and cups and balanced them in his arms, sitting up from the bed.

"Also, I need you to go into the forest tomorrow and pick some herbs and plants that are needed for the next batch of medicine. I suggest you think over tonight what ingredients you need to obtain to cure Peter..." Nikolas paused and turned to Tino whose body was nestled snugly in the billowy warmth of the blankets. Nikolas smiled softly, his eyes still dull before speaking once more.

"Going into the forest alone is dangerous during these times of war so Berwald has offered to go with you along with some of his men to make sure you come back safely." Nikolas murmured, walking around the small squared hut, blowing out candles as he passed them, the smoke coiling up from the tent to sift out through the little open flat that showed a small glimpse of the northern stars, the only familiar thing about this whole strange and frightening place.

Tino made a scowl and ugly look on his face. He was going to be guarded? Like a little lap dog that couldn't take care of itself? Tino pouted grimly.

"I don't need his help." Tino bit off sourly, turning his body in the covers, hugging his knees to his bare chest. Nikolas chuckle smugly. "Too bad. You need to be protected at all times, you are a liability to the two tribes, we can't have you being captured by the Russian's, Berwald would go into a monstrous rage." Nikolas covered his hands over the last of the candles and blew it out softly, the flame dying with the kiss of his breath. A soft light still filtered in from the cracks of the tarp flaps and the small opening up top, but other than that, the soft and hot summer air caressed Tino's skin, making his eyes slowly drift shut.

"Fine... He can watch me... But I won't like it." Tino grumbled, yawning into a throw of rabbit skin, soft and warm. Nikolas rolled his eyes but softly walked to the flaps of the tents. The sounds of the party slowly faded into the roomy tent, the light from the small bonfire sweltering and dancing against the laughter and chatter of the celebrating people. Today was a good day, their leader had gotten a bride, it was something to be happy about, to be proud about.

Nikolas pulled the flaps back and slowly, hesitantly, turned back to his sleepy cousin who was now nestled into the covers of the blankets. The Norwegian could hear the soft mumbles and mewls of the sleeping boy as his body rocked him back and forth into the land of mist and dreams. Nikolas smiled softly, his eyes fixed on the pale and sweet face of the little Finn. He hoped Tino would embrace his destiny, his responsibilities. The sooner the better for the young lad. He also hoped with cherished courage in his heart that Berwald would take good care of his stubborn and innocent little cousin. Nikolas knew Berwald already loved Tino from the moment the giant of a man first laid eyes on him. Now only time would tell if Tino felt the same...

Stepping back from the hut Nikolas walked over to the washing pales that had collected near the small ponds that dotted the landscape. He placed the dirtied dishes to soak in the warm water before joining the feasting and dancing villagers along the fire. Already people were drunk and giddy, waving clay mugs around in the air, the golden and crimson liquid sloshing from the cups and onto the floor where the dogs would come to lap at the puddles of ale and wine.

Nikolas wrapped his shawl closer around his shoulders before stumbling over to Berwald and Mathias who were both flanked by young and bright eyed soldiers. Mathias's had just finished a gallant war story when his eyes widened with joy and the inklings of lust when he saw Nikolas nearing the edge of the fires. Mathias raised up his drinking horn, decorated with the head of a wolf in gleaming gold and held his arms wide. Nikolas glared stiffly before sitting down next to the drunken Dane on a fallen log. Mathias grinned wildly before smashing his arms around Nikolas's waist, to which the Norwegian rolled his eyes and pushed the Dane's wandering hands away.

"Norge! Norge! Gimmie' a kiss! Hmm? Pwease...I...I...hic...I wanna' have a...k-kwisss..." Mathias giggled like an infant, gripping for Nikolas's arms, making a face similar to a fishes, puckered and clenched. Nikolas pushed him away with ease, knocking the Dane over and onto the floor. Mathias just laughed boisterously, as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

"How's T'no...?"Berwald mumbled softly looking over to Nikolas. Nikolas stared at the light reflecting off of the fire from Berwald's spectacles and gave a reassuring smile.

"He'll be fine, just a bit shaken up. Give him some time and he'll sober up to the idea." Nikolas mumbled to the leader of the Swedes. The man frowned but nodded softly, clenching his hands between his knees, his eyes deep in thought.

"Oh heeeyyyy! There's a lil' snake down here! Hey'ya _lille slange_! Aw...he's just a lil' fella..."* Mathias's sloshed voice sputtered against the cracking of the fire. His hands splashed against the scraggly grass of the small clearing before his numbing fingers grabbed the body of a small and harmless little snake.

" 'S he st'll mad at meh?" Berwald mumbled out sadly, his hands clutched to his drinking horn, the shape of a lions head etched into the horns fragile body, the lions teeth bared and sharp.

"Lille slange! Lille slange! Aw...Look Norge, hes...hic...climb'n up mah arm!" Mathias giggled, his legs swinging back and forth against the dusty body of the log.

"Yes he's still mad. But moreover he's just scared. This is new to him, he's never been away from home, and he's never had his hand sought after by a man nor woman before. Give him time to accept you, let him know that you really love, then he will allow his true feelings for you to surface." Nikolas said, gazing into the rippling and coursing fire, the flames hungrily biting into the pine tree limbs and dried hay.

"Aw, he's climb-climb'n up to mahhh face! He-he wantsss ah kwiss!" Mathias made a puckered noise with his lips as he kicked his feet happily up and down. "Norge never gives me kwisses...maybe this'll this'll make 'em jealous!" Mathias cackled, his speech slurred beyond repair.

Berwald sighed and stood up, handing his drinking horn to a soldier sitting next to him, he shuffled from the small little constructed seats of log stumps and smoothed down rocks. Berwald shifted and trudged out of the little clearing of men before turning back to the golden glow of the fire.

All of the sudden a wail of pain was heard and Mathias was kicking his feet up in the air wildly, crying like a drunken baby. He scuffled around on the ground a few seconds, clutching his mouth with his shaking hands, a bit of blood dripping down. When he finally calmed himself enough to stop yelling, he sat up windily and pulled his hands from his mouth. A long thin strip of blood curled from his lip to clot under his chin.

"The lil' bastard bit me!" He cried out, clinging to Nikolas's tunics. Nikolas sighed into the heated air with annoyance before standing up and dragging the Dane up with him. The blubbering viking wrapped his arms around Nikolas for support, still heavily intoxicated and whining about the stupid snake that had bitten him. Nikolas pushed the Dane out of the clearing and regrettably helped him get his footing, muttering that he would help make a poultice for the bite later.

"Th'nk I'll go ta' b'd now..." Berwald mumbled tiredly, turning to Nikolas, dark circles already underneath the Swede's greenish eyes. The Norwegian nodded and everyone bowed or mumbled a good night to the tribe leader as he walked back to his tent, Nikolas leading a sluggish Mathias with him to his own tent.

Walking back to his own tent that he shared with the perverted and obnoxious Danish man, a smug thought wedged into Nikolas's brain, making the Norwegian smile as he pushed open the flaps of the monstrously large tent that they lived in.

Perhaps Nikolas should have warned Tino that the tent he had so cozily run into was actually the temporary tent of the giant Swedish leader. Perhaps Nikolas should have also warned Tino to not sleep naked in said tent. Nikolas smiled smugly, acting as a crutch for the immobile Dane as he limped and staggered into the spacious hut they both shared together. Perhaps Nikolas should have warned Tino. But he hadn't. What's done was Done. Nikolas smiled sinisterly. Oh it was going to be a long night for the little Finn, a long night indeed.

...

Tino had been sleeping soundly in the warm and arid bed of the tent, his muscles relaxed and his cheeks snuggled into the warm and cuddly blankets of the bed. He felt safe, secure, relaxed and-Stomp!-What the perkele was that?* Tino's body stiffened as he clutched the blankets closer to his warm and bare body. His eyes widened and his breath quickened. He had heard a noise just outside his tent, like someone was standing by the leather flaps, dangerously close to opening them. Tino felt this breath come out in spurts of hot air, his eyes as wide as a deer caught in a hunters trap, blood running cold.

"Hnn..."

Tino froze. He willed is body to stay still and his lungs to calm down their hunger for air. He shut his eyes tight and opened his lips, dry and rough, the air being sucked out right from his lungs.

"W-whose there?" Tino mumbled out weakly into the tangible and frighteningly dark space of the tent.

"'S meh...Berwald." Berwald's tired and guttered voice flew over Tino's ears, making the hair on the Finn's neck stand up. Tino's breath hitched in his throat and he wrapped the covers tighter against his body. Berwald? What could the giant want with the Finn this late at night? Then Tino's mind came to a frighting conclusion, it shattered into a million pieces and made his mind halt.

What if Berwald wanted to bed Tino? He was to be his wife after all! Tino wouldn't put it past the viking, he knew Berwald was strong and capable of forcing the Finn down and into the bed wit hone arm tied behind his monstrous back. Tino felt a long thin watered down tear slide down his face. No... He didn't want to be raped... No...He didn't want to be put through such pain and humiliation. The girls of his village had told him it hurt, that it teared away the flesh and sometimes made you bleed. Tino didn't want that! Not like this!

"Wh-What do you want?" Tino's voice was like acid, his eyes scared and wide. His hands gripped wildly at the blankets, wrapping them so tight against his body that they reminded him of a large and carnivorous snake suffocating its prey.

"Sl'p..." Berwald mumbled tiredly. Tino could hear the shuffling noise from the front of the bed as Berwald disrobed himself of his cloak and tunic shirt, leaving him in his trousers and soft leather boots. There was enough light streaming in from the ceiling flap from the stars that Tino could make out the ridges and muscular bumps of the Swede's chest, making him look like a jungle cat at night, stalking low to the ground with taunt muscles against the light of the moon. Tino shivered and rolled over on his side, facing the left of the bed, inching as far as he could away from the Swede. Well, at least he hadn't come to take Tino's virginity, at least not yet.

"Wh-Why are you sleeping in here?" Tino squeaked out, his voice losing its anger as he heard the unmistakable hinge and clink from a belt buckle being unlatched and thrown to the dirt and hay covered floor. Tino jumped slightly when he felt the giant of a man sit on the bed, the huge cot creaking under his strong and powerful weight.

" 'S mah bed..." The Swede muttered in his guttered voice.

Tino's face grew pale upon realization that he had accidentally sought refuge in the leaders tent without even knowing it! He smashed his face into a hay filled pillow and silently screamed. Oh this was not good, not good!

Berwald had just pulled off his boots, his movements weary and a bit sluggish due to all the hard mead he had been drinking. He thought the liquor would help to sooth his depression. Normally he didn't drink, but ever since Peter had gotten sick, the alcohol was the only thing to numb his sorrows and pain. After today...When Tino had so flat out rejected him, well, it just gave the Swede another reason to gulp down a huge tankard of ale and spiced wine until he had absolutely no feeling in his head. Berwald sighed heavily before sliding off his trousers and slipping into the already warm covers of his bed. His mind ached as if a patch of siky thistles had taken root in his head. Oh he would never drink again...

Tino was having an absolute panic attack. As soon as the hulking body of the Swede had slipped into the covers of the bed, naked mind you, Tino had set his body into a scrunched up little ball, biting his lip and shutting his eyes tight, begging with himself not to make a sound. He wouldn't even breath, let along think, for fear of even his thoughts being too loud in the thick silence.

A few seconds passed before the bed covers twitched and slid and Berwald had faced his body to the left, looking at the bare and smooth back of the little Finn who was clutching the edged of the bed like there was a terrifying hurricane present in the tent. Berwald frowned, bringing his hand to lightly touch Tino's stiff and hot shoulders, the smooth skin looking as if it was the color of the moon on a clear night.

Tino flinched as soon as he felt cool and nimble fingers slide against his skin. He made a sound similar to a small yelp, digging his head downward till it was hunched against his arms. Berwald frowned.

"T'no..."

No answer.

"T'no... I'm not gonna' h'rt yoo..."

The covers shifted slightly, the tension visibly melting away from the Finn's body mildly, like a kettle on the fire steaming against the coals, the water slowly sifting upward, not fast, but not slow. Cautiously easing upward, like the tension from his taunt and nerve wracked little body.

"You...won't?" Tino asked, his voice shaking. He was afraid of the answer he would receive. Berwald sighed and brought his fingers down again on the soft and warm flesh of the boy. Tino hissed like he was in pain.

"T'no...Pl'se look at meh..." Berwald grumbled pleadingly, nudging the Finn's body closer. Tino cried like a timid little kitten before doing as he was told, slowly shifting on his back and to his side once more to face the tired and worn gaze of the viking man.

Enough blanket had slipped off that chiseled chest to give Tino more of an eyeful of the powerfully built man in the crisp and warm moonlit tent. Tino shivered involuntarily. Damn the Swedish mans body.

"I'll do wh't ya ask'd..." Berwald mumbled, his glaring sea green eyes pinning Tino down on the spot, like a hunting hound standing before a timid fox, right before the dogs jaws snapped shut over the foxes neck.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Tino whispered out, begging himself to look at the man with any ounce of courage or stubbornness. His timid violet eyes met those sharp and crystalline river stone orbs and he felt his stomach boil and hum with unwanted warmth.

"I'll pr've ta' yoo th't I l've ya..."

Tino blinked rapidly, his mouth wide open, his fingers letting lose their death grip on the padding of blankets.

"Ev'ry day I'll ask ya' ta m'rry meh unt'l ya acc'pt..." Berwald mumbled quietly, rolling his head up so that his hulking body was supported by his elbows. Tino inched his chin out from under the blankets, his legs criss-crossed and brought up to his chest, still very aware that he was naked in a bed with a very bare, and very terrifying looking viking.

"I'll sh'w ya' how much ya m'an ta me..." Berwald downcast his eyes to glare down at the dark shapes that made the woolen blankets on the bed, his glasses having already been taken off and put on the small lowly set table for safety. Tino starred in shock before laughing nervously.

"You...You talk as if you already love me!" He cried out with disbelief and stubbornness. Berwald grunted, his eyes low and serious, meeting Tino's dead on. Both eyes simply reflected back at one another, the warm brush of wind rustling the flaps, the crackling of the fire outside, somewhere in the trees huddling near the tent and owl hooted. Tino swallowed thickly in the heavy and tangible silence, feeling it ease into his mind with tension.

"I do l've ya..." Berwald mumbled, his cheeks growing darker in the poorly lit room. Tino craned his neck back, his breath halting deep in his throat, like a trapped creature, scared and unprotected.

"But you have only just met me!" Tino cried out, sitting up against the scratchy hay of the bed. Berwald blinked slowly, sternly, still starring Tino down.

"_Nej_. Nikolas has t'ld meh abo't yoo for a long t'me now..."* Berwald looked down at the bedding that was humming with body warmth and straining with the pressure of the two bodies awkwardly nestled in the confines of the skins and cloth.

"He t'ld meh of yer hair...L'ke a doves... Yer eyes, l'ke mornin' glories... N' yer sweet n' k'nd t'mp'rment... I fell in l've w'th ya before I even met ya..." Berwald mumbled out, his shoulders shrugging, his chest rising and flattening with every forced breath, doing his best to sneak a few whiffs of air filled with the Finn's sweet scent.

"Really...?" Tino asked softly, suddenly ashamed about how he had been acting during this entire time. Berwald had saved him from inevitably being torn to shreds by hoards of Russian soldiers... The least the Finn could do would be to act a little thankful. Even if he had brought him here against his will...

"Hnn..." Berwald nodded stiffly before sinking back into the covers and nudged himself closer to Tino.

"B'g day ahead... Get s'me sleep..." Berwald rumbled low in his throat, sighing into the musty bedding. He placed one arm underneath the pillow and the next near his side, doing his best to give Tino as much room as he could. He really did not want to frighten the sheepish little boy anymore than he had already. He hated the look in the boys eyes when he was scared, it absolutely tore Berwald's heart in two.

Tino bit his lip, his body cocooned in a mass of wrapping's, his fingers twirling his baby soft hair in his shaking fingers. Berwald had already fallen in love with him? Tino chewed his lip furiously, his heart beating like a freshly tuned drum, his feet twitching back and forth out of habit. Tino sighed with frustration before he rolled on his back and wedged himself just a bit closer to the Swede. Berwald didn't stir. Tino nibbled on his bottom lip before opening his mouth to speak before closing it again when he thought better of it. Tino was about to sigh out into the air with frustration when Berwald's heavy voice seeped in through the air. Tino froze.

"T'no... Can I h'ld ya?" Berwald mumbled, his eyes scanning over against the little body of the Finn. Tino squeaked like a small mouse caught under the mercy of a broom stick's deadly stroke.

Berwald's eyes slid shut before he rolled onto his back and breathed out through his mouth with nervousness.

"Ah...N'ver m'nd..." he mumbled after a second thought, his voice slowly sinking into a quite whisper of uneasiness and crushed hope. Tino furrowed his brow with confusion. Could he let the viking hold him in his arms? The man sounded so deflated and sad when Tino had squeaked out with , just a bit of appeasement wouldn't do any harm? Tino made small sound of defeat before he, shutting his eyes tight, quickly swayed over to the motionless giant, and planted his body flush against his side. Thankfully the wrappings of a blanket hooked against Tino's waist, discouraging the contact of flesh against flesh. Tino wrapped his arms around himself, his body shaking, teeth chattering, but not from the cold.

Berwald smiled ever so softly before he quietly and gently placed his left arm against Tino's body, bringing him closer, but still not as close to embarrass or frighten the Finn away. Tino, his eyes still painfully shut tight, just sat their stiffly, begging for the onslaught of sleep to strike him out cold. But it was a soft and slightly hopeful voice that made Tino stingily awake.

"T'no...Will ya' be m'w'fe...?" Berwald mumbled into the thick air, smelling the sweet and vibrant scent of the Finn. Tino smelled amazingly like drying blue berries, baked fresh in a sweet honey cake, or like the cool grass between your toes on the first night of solstice.

Tino's heart shook and vibrated against his rib cage, making a heated noise that the boy could hear against his ears. His pulse was thick and hot in his throat. The Finn let out a tiny gasp at the question, his body shaking slightly from nervousness.

"No..." Tino said, the inkling of regret in his voice. One night of innocent hugging was not going to entirely convince the Finn that the giant really loved him. Not in the slightest.

Berwald sighed out but nodded, his chin grazing slightly against the top of the Finn's head. Berwald looked up at the stars above, the vibrant white against the dark sapphire sky made his breath quiet and his heart sleep.

"G'd n'ght T'no..." Berwald mumbled. _Good night my Wife..._

"...Good night...Berwald..." Tino voiced out weakly. _Good night my Barbarian._

...

**I'm sorry if I rushed, or if I made Tino too OOC, or made his emotions too unrealistic. I really want Tino to realize that he has feelings for Berwald though! I hope you liked this chapter so far! Review are always welcome.**

**Authors Notes:**

- "It was hot boiled water that had been doused with honey and a few chunky bits of white willow bark and dried camomile buds, Tino's favorite.*" **-Chamomile and white willow bark, when mixed correctly, provide a natural medicine to help keep headaches down.**

-""It's called limpa, a Swedish bread that was baked just today for the wedding."*" **- "Limpa" is a dark Swedish bread that is moist and made with orange peels or flavoring and molasses.**

-"Tino growled out, chewing lazily on some feverfew leaves, trying to ward off the migraine in his head.*" **- "Feverfew" is a leaf that is used to help keep down fevers and migraines.**

-"They had seemed to welcome their leaders choice for a bride without a second thought, even though Tino was male.*" **- Homosexuality wasn't common in Viking society, but it did exist. Some of the Norse Gods participated in homosexual acts, as well as becoming transgenderd such as when Loki turned into a female horse and was impregnated by a stallion to give birth to Odins horse Sleipnir. In Viking society, if you were a man and were gay, it was accepted as long as you had a good bought of offspring as well to take your place as your heir. Also, if you were to be the 'top' in the relationship, you would hold higher status than if you were on the bottom, as the bottom was most of the time seen as weak, or a whorish person. Haha Tino's a whore.**

-"He missed the bonfires during Valborg, and the marriages in spring.*" **-"Valborg" Is basically an evening festival in some parts of Finland and Sweden where winter leaves are burned for the signaling of summer.**

-""Oh heeeyyyy! There's a lil' snake down here! Hey'ya lille slange! Aw...he's just a lil' fella..."*"** - "lille slange" means, 'little snake' in Danish.**

-"He felt safe, secure, relaxed and-Stomp!-What the perkele was that?*" **-"Perkele" means "Fuck" in Finnish.**

-""Nej. Nikolas has t'ld meh abo't yoo for a long t'me now..."*"- **"Nej" means "No" in Swedish. **


	4. Do you love him?

**Let me tell ya, writing this story in a small cabin right on the edges of a forest and river does wonders for the imagination! Well, here it is, another chapter guys! Hope ya like it! This story will contain blood, sex, and spit-fire Tino. Don't like it? Don't read it. THIS FIC IS NOT HISTORICALLY ACCURATE! FEED MEH REVIEWS I LIVE OFF OF THEM! (My dolphin problem is getting better as well, the reviews are helping tremendously!) Thank you to **yotzie**, **MalinChan**, and **Ruusu** for being my Swedish/Finnish translators! Much love to you guys! (Also, I am still in a place with limited internet access, so chapters are going to be updated slowly!) **

…...

_Lick lick lick..._

Tino groaned into the suffocatingly chilly air of the hut. He rolled over on his tummy, his face smashed into the slightly itchy hay stuffed pillow. He breathed in a big gulp of the sour smelling scent of dried and stale hay before yawning. Taking another bought of the dust filled air, he slowly mumbled against his lips before slinking back into some much needed sleep.

_Lick lick lick..._

Tino grumbled again as he felt something warm and wet pressing against his flushed cheeks. He begged his eyes shut, shrugging his shoulders against the bed stuffing, trying to escape the strange and drooping wet sensation that was lathered all across his face.

_Lick lick lick..._

After a few more seconds of the damnable licking Tino seemed to have enough. He bit his lip and growled, as if hoping to wake up from a bad dream. Yes that's right... This was all a dream. Soon Tino would wake up in his nice little cottage, all snugly warm in his sheep skins and hay, the cool Finnish sunlight streaming in from his chipped blown glass window, the smells of boiling mead wafting in from the small hearth ... Oh yes, it was only a dream, only a dream...only a-

_Lick lick lick...!_

"Gah!" Tino breathed out with sudden annoyance. He flung his hands against the wooly blankets and rolled over on his side, his hair all ruffled and sticking at odd ends at his scalp, his mouth dry and ugly tasting.

He sighed with frustration before he opened his eyes carefully, dark circles underneath his violet orbs from a strained nights sleep. Maybe it was the morning light that blinded him, or the absurdity of his situation, or maybe it was the fact that he had woken up naked, but whatever the cause, when Tino opened his violet eyes, what greeted him made him immediately jump a foot in the air.

Out of pure shock, Tino dumped his head backwards onto the bed, causing his head to smack dully into the sewn pillows of the huge bed that he could now clearly see thanks to the opened tarps. Tino groaned tiredly before sitting up, dragging his hands against the cot for support. When he finally blinked the tiredness and shock away from his eyes, he looked back at what had surprised him so frightfully.

Sitting on her little white rump, sat a small and curly coated puppy, her eyes the color of tiny black berries, beady and joyful, a pink little tongue dangling from her short muzzle, and a wet black nose that pushed itself against Tino's morning chilled fingers.

It took Tino a moment to realize that the little dogs persistent licking must have been what had woken him up so early in the morning, as the dog's sharp yipping certainly did the trick to snap Tino awake. Tino blinked at the dog before a gentle smile lit up his face.

"Hello little girl, good morning..." Tino mumbled out, his voice now relaxed and calm, if not a bit dry from so much screaming and crying yesterday. The puppy barked loudly before rolling on her tummy, exposing her pale pink little belly, which Tino gladly scratched and rubbed to the petite dogs delight.

Tino smiled and, his body still hunched over and turned, cuddled the little dog to his chest. The puppy wriggled and shook her small stubble of a tail, her pink darting tongue lapping at everything in sight. Tino giggled softly before letting the wet and warm tiny tongue give his face a small bath, the dog yipping and yapping, her many kisses littering Tino's cheeks. His petite hands that had only been shaking from fear and nervousness before, were now steadily combing through the small dogs light and snow frosted fur. The puppy let out a bark and whine before pressing her nose against Tino's now comfortably warm palms. Tino smiled happily and scratched the dog behind the ears.

"Well, at least I know you won't eat me, huh?" Tino muttered half jokingly. The dog pounced up on his bare chest and licked at his nose in an answer. Tino laughed out loud in the still somewhat chilly and sweet air of the hut, the straw from the bed rubbing against his shoulders. Then, without warning, the puppy sat up on all fours and twisted her body around on the bed, trampling up onto Tino's shoulders and back down again on the lumpy bed. The dog gave a surprisingly loud yip behind Tino, enticing the Finn's curiosity to look behind him at what had caught the small dog's attention.

Tino shoved his elbow against the bed and leaned over and back to grab the dog, clutching her to his bare chest, her curly fur feeling silky smooth against his now bitterly cold skin. Tino kissed the white fluff ball atop her head and looked up to see what she was so happily barking at. As soon as his violet gaze caught sight of what made the puppy so ecstatic, he quickly grabbed the dogs muzzled and gently, but seriously begged her to be quite! His smile already having been wiped off of his face, replaced with a frighted shattered expression.

Tino's eyes widened and he gave an unmanly silent yelp into the still and sweepingly cold air of the hut, making the puppy wriggle and jump from confusion and burst from Tino's desperately clutched hands. Tino bit his lip and grabbed the dog and held her flush to him, trying to do his best to keep the little rascal quiet. The puppy whined but Tino shushed her frantically. He didn't want to be mean to the cute little dog, but this was a dire situation! Tino couldn't help being a bit frantic and scared! For, laying next to him, flush against his back, eyes peacefully closed, slept Berwald.

Scary, terrifying, frightening,monstrous Berwald...

Tino nearly screamed out with shock.

His eyes scanned frantically across the slumbering beast of a man, trying his best to squish the dog between his arms in an attempt to keep her obediently quiet, for if this wild lion of a man woke up...Who knows what trouble would be in store for Tino.

Last night he had softly began to break away at his resolve. He had let Berwald in to look inside his soul, to investigate the emotions and the thoughts that pulsed and breathed through the red flesh of Tino' heart. It may have been a mistake, but it felt strangely nice to Finn. Allowing Berwald to hold him, to confess that he has feelings for Tino that are very real and very true...Well, if felt amazingly good to the poor confused little Finn. It was all new yes, but just like the freezing winter rains that nourish the bedded seeds for spring, it felt clean and necessary. Tino tighten his mouth into a sudden pout.

But...it also left him even more raw and confused. Tino had never once been sought by male nor female. Sure, he had had a few crushes, mostly to a few of the neighbors sons, but they were just young meaningless attachments to good looks. After a few months, his yearning for the handsome farm boys died off, replaced with his dedication to work. Ever since he was little he would help Nikolas in making a batch of herbal medical tea, or wrapping a broken arm in splints and cloth bundles. He had always helped around the small hut-like-clinic and had taken a liking to his work. But, who knew such a profession would get him into so much hysterics and drama. Who would have thought that being a meaningless little healer to a small village near Helsinki would inevitably damn Tino to life as a vikings wife. Tino sighed heavily. But, if it's what the Gods had in store for Tino, well then, he would just have to bite his tongue and endure it. Who knows, maybe Berwald would prove his love to the Finn after all. Tino sighed out hotly, combing his fingers through the still struggling dogs fur. Perhaps he really didn't want to endure... This new life that he was going to lead left his shoulders sore and his heart bruised. How would he ever get used to it when his body was already sour and cold at the thought that he was beginning to love than man that he was suppose to hate. It made absolutely no sense! But then again, the Gods wishes didn't have to make sense... Tino sighed bitterly. There was no going back, he would just have to endure and wait, wait for the giant of a man to demonstrate his love to the Finn with pure kindness.

Tino looked to the man whose head was cradled against a patch of dull flax blanket, the golden wheat of the giants sharply cut hair framing slightly against his eyes, which were softly closed in a lull of sleep. Berwald's mouth was softly parted, breathing small bouts of air, his lips quivering slightly every second or so. Along the Swede's strong and handsome face, signs of wear and exhaustion were present, existing under his eyes in dark smudges of black, as if someone had taken a clump of charcoal and smeared it underneath the vikings eyes. His breathing was also a bit ragged, and worst of all, due to his bare back being exposed, Tino could make out the long thin scratches and barely healed wounds of battle. All along the smooth and icy flesh of the larger male, cuts and scrapes seemed to bloom like thistle weeds, each blotchy and some already becoming smooth, some having just been stitched up by Nikolas a few day before. Tino bit his lip in worry. Worry? Tino's eyes widened. Yes, worry. Worry was alright, as long as it didn't chip away any more of the walls barricading his heart, it was fine. It was a natural emotion, an easy one to control, not like the strong grasp of love...

He would have never known the true horrors that the heat of battle brings if he had not experienced it twice already. Tino scrapped his eyes over the giant mans body once more, his eye sight glimpsing patches of dark bluish bruises and thin scars that only the sharpened blade of a sword could cause. Tino sighed sorrowfully.

Judging by all the battle scars and wounds the little Finn knew Berwald was probably fighting alongside his troops, putting in as much energy and strength as an unleashed lion, and yet even he was not spared by the arrows and sword blades of the Russians. Tino suddenly furrowed his brow in worry. If he wanted to keep the Swedish and Danish troops going forward towards their goal, then he best hurry with curing Peter of his illness, for if the lions cub was still sick, it might bring the strong barbarians moral down. Tino tucked the blankets over him tighter, petting the small dog along her neck, the puppy panting softly, her short ears moving back and forth.

Tino let his bright violet eyes pull back to the sleeping man, so peaceful, almost vulnerable...If Tino wanted to, he could probably knock him unconscious with something heavy, such as the thick blocks of wood stacked up near the tarp entrance. Tino paused and looked over to the low set table packed high with armor, skins, and small pouches full of slender knives forged by brass and elk horn. Tino could even _kill_ the viking with one blow to his back with a medical knife if he wanted to... Tino bit his lip, feeling his heart suddenly ache and his stomach grow sick.

No...

He wouldn't kill the man, he couldn't. Perhaps if the terms would have been different, perhaps if he was left to be a concubine, or a slave, then he would feel justified in taking the Swedes life. But not now, not when just a few hours ago the man had so sweetly confessed his love to the small and scared little Finn. Tino knew it must have taken the rough looking man a while to get the courage to tell Tino what he had... He told Tino that he would prove to him that he loved him, that it wasn't just for his ego, for his pride, it wasn't that Tino was a trophy... No, Berwald really wanted Tino as his wife...It was a love confession, a true and valiant one that Tino knew he could take to heart. But the problem was, did he want to? There was still a lingering doubt. What if Berwald was just teasing him, stringing him along like a gullible fish on a hook, till, sharply, frighteningly, the unsuspected fish is dragged out of the safety of the river and slowly starves from lack of the cool and crystal water. Tino shivered, his shoulders bending low like a willow branch.

Berwald wouldn't do that. The Swede, though a bit too affectionate for Tino's tastes, had shown nothing but kindness and patience with the little Finn. If Berwald really wanted to do harm to the Finn, he wouldn't have offered his bed so openly to him, he would have kicked Tino out to go sleep with the livestock in the bitter cold. No, Berwald was different. Just how different? Tino didn't know... But soon he would find out... He would talk to the man today, steal him away to a clearing or some place private, ask all the questions that were begging to burst out from his heart. He wanted to know why him, why a wife, why a _Damen Lejon_? Why had the Gods chosen him for this fate?

Tino sighed and decided to the take his time wisely, observing Berwald like he was some great specimen of man. The little Finn did his best to drink in the rare scene before him. It was like he was a little lamb that had woken up in the lions den, left to observe in awe before the lion woke up and growled hungrily, gnashing his teeth together in a powerful bite. Tino suddenly shivered.

_That's right..._ He had thought Berwald had entered the tent late at night to bed Tino. Tino suddenly felt this heart speed up and pound ruthlessly against his already aching rib cage. He was so sure that the Swedish leader would have used his brute strength to pin Tino down onto the bed and force himself on him, but...Well, Berwald hadn't. Instead he had confessed to the little Finn that he loved him, that he always loved him, and would continue to love him. Tino felt his heart shudder and quake, his throat becoming quickly dry, his face heating up like coals sputtered against a fire. Tino sighed and willed his body to stop shaking. He would just have to accept the fact that he was indeed falling in love. In love with a Barbarian.

The puppy keened low in her throat, wanting to wriggle around, to play, to jump and bark. But Tino wouldn't have it. Instead the little Finn quickly held the puppy tighter, only enticing her to wriggle and strain against his shaking hands. Tino was desperate. He had woken up naked, naked next to a man, a bigger man, who was also completely naked! Tino bit his lip and frantically shook his head downward, the little puppy fighting him all the way. Tino struggled to keep the dog under control while still keeping his eyes on the peacefully sleeping giant.

While holding the slippery pup down with his fingers, Tino scooted back to the edge of the bed, trying his best to keep at least some article of cloth on. It was only when the snow white dog suddenly sprang from his awkward grip did Tino silently scream and dive for the small dog that was now headed straight for Berwald, about to plunge onto the giants bare chest, ultimately waking him up. Tino's eyes widened with ferocity as he pushed off with his feet and lunged for the dog, his fingers outstretched, mouth wide open with anxiousness, face a pale white.

Tino was almost there, his fingertips lightly brushing against the dogs jack rabbit like feet. The dog yipped happily, making her way to pounce her light, spring like feet on top of Berwald's bruised back. Tino's eyes widened, makes a final mad dash for the dog, his lithe and bare body seeming to soar in the air like a sparrow taking flight. The dog too leaped up and was inches away from making Tino's worst nightmare come true, having the beast of a man wake up. Images of a growling lion fluttered Tino's head in a split second before his fingers brushed against the curly coated fur.

Almost...Almost...Almost... Tino's fingers barely grasp on little cleft of hair before the dog, giving out a high pitch bark of victory, jumped clear over Berwald's body and landed with a click of nails against the dirt floor of the tent. The dog scampered out of the leather flaps, her tail wagging up in the air. Tino's eyes widened in shock before he realized he was in mid air. Shutting his eyes tight he waited for the snap and plunge of his embrace onto the floor.

_Smack!_

Tino winced slightly, his body slamming into something feverishly warm, his eyes shut tight, clenching almost against his skin. Tino sighed bitterly, cursing the tiny little snow white trouble maker. But before he even had time to get his bearings, something hard and taunt flipped him over on his back, the sounds of a winded gasp escaping Tino's throat. Tino made a surprised yelp as he felt the weight of something on him, pressing him down into the bed harshly. But it was the feel of something cold and metal shoved up against his pale neck that really made his blood run cold. Tino stopped his wild breathing to gaze into a milky color of green, sleep still misting across the eyes of the person that had flung him down on the bed, knife edged dangerously close to his throat. Tino made a small cough for air, strange hands gripping into his wrists tightly, but not enough to bite into the skin.

"Ber...Berwald..." Tino gasped, trying to speak to the giant of a man that had shoved the blade of a knife bitterly close to his flesh. At the sound of his name, Berwald's glare and scowl seemed to melt away with shock and then raging embarrassment. Berwald blinked, and, upon realizing that it was Tino that he had mistaken for an enemy, immediately released the Finn's wrists and pulled the knife from his throat.

Tino gasped out with much needed air before he, quickly realizing that he was still naked, grabbed tightly at one of the scattered blankets that was haphazardly dressed along the bed and quickly threw one over him, rubbing at his throat.

"Wh-Why would you pull a knife on me?" Tino shrieked wildly, his eyes as wide as the waxen moon. _He tried to kill me!_ He thought with rigid fright. Berwald rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

From outside Tino could here the first stirrings of people begin to wake up to greet the dawn. Somewhere a rooster crowed loudly and a few rumblings of pony carts could be heard lazily trotting down the row of tents. Berwald looked to Tino with a bit of shame in his eyes. He ran his hands over the low table top before picking up his glasses and placing them on his still straining eyes. The crudely made glass of the spectacles glinting brightly against the sunlight from the opened top flaps.

"S'rry...In a war c'mp ya' h've ta' be on edge..." Berwald grunted out apologetically. He took the knife in his hands and gingerly placed it back underneath his lumpy pillow, sheathing it in a scrap of elk hide, Tino's wide eyes waning slightly.

Ah...So that was it. He had thought Tino was an enemy, a Russian soldier perhaps. Berwald was only protecting himself... It somewhat made sense to the Finn. If you were the leader of a warring tribe, well then, of course you'd want to have some form of protection with you at all times. Tino rubbed his hands against his arms in an attempt to collect some warmth around his body. Though it still left a small biting reminder that Berwald was not a small tamed cat like the men back home. No, Berwald was a ruthless lion of viking Swedish blood. It left a harsh spot in Tino's heart, another lock that would have to be broken to unleash his barred up love for the man.

"Oh... Okay. I understand, it just...scared me a little is all..." Tino mumbled out somewhat nervously. Berwald lowered his eyes and shifted his legs down on the dirt and hay covered floor, his monstrous feet planted onto the icy cold earth.

"Hnn... I'm s'rry..." He apologized again, his voice sounding more sheepish, more delicate. Berwald's head still felt like he had smashed it against an Elk stag's antlers. He clutched the back of his head and rubbed tiredly. That settled it, he would never drink hard mead again...

Tino jutted out his lips in a small childish pout before he nodded.

"It's okay..." He sighed, his eyes slightly wandering over the slightly scarred and maimed back of the Swede. Tino softly gasped as his violet stare caught the full effect of the powerful muscles of the man, the broad shoulders, the sloping curve of coercive flesh that belonged to a true warrior. It left a small pinkish color settle and nestle between Tino's cheeks, making the Finn quickly tuck his head to the left, averting his heated gaze. Never had the farm boys back home look so plain and homely... None of them held a candle to Berwald's handsome looks.

Berwald sighed out loudly, running his hands through his short clipped hair. The giant of a man tugged at a woolen blanket, the edges of it having been dyed a dark green color unlike the other blankets that had been dyed a sandy red. The Barbarian lifted it up and, slinking awkwardly out from the bed, quickly wrapped it around his waist, hobbling over his discarded clothing. Tino watched with heated curiosity as the man awkwardly and fidgety limped along the dusty floor to tug on his trousers, tying the woven flaxen cord that was sticking out from the cloth in a tight knot around his breeches to keep them on the mans wide and pale hipbones. Tino made a small squeak in the back of his throat as he ventured to keep his eyes looking up and instead of on the softly carved muscles of the Swede's six pack. _Stop acting like a whorish woman! _Tino begged himself hotly.

Berwald breathed softly and rubbed his arms with his hands, flexing his fingers against the now sore muscles from a cramped night sleep. But it was worth it. Sleeping next to a warm body, a cute, lithe little body that resembled that of a soft furred rabbit. It was nice for a change. Berwald only hoped that his little rabbit would still let him sleep in the same bed as him for a little while longer... If not, he would miss the little Finn's cute slumbering breathing as he nudged his head near Berwald's chest in sleep, letting Berwald comb his fingers through his soft dove hair. It seemed that so far, only when the little man was asleep did Berwald have enough courage to show real fluid affection towards the lad. He had been waiting for a good half a year to set his eyes on his wife. He could wait a bit longer till Tino settled in to the idea as his bride. Until then, Berwald would just have to show his love to the Finnish man as best as he could.

Tino let a small sigh of admiration slip through his lips before he quickly realized that he was gawking with lusty eyes at the powerfully and impressively built body of the Swede. Tino, frightened over what he was suddenly feeling coarse through his veins, quickly shook his head and willed his pulse to slow down, for his blood to remain calm. He couldn't be undone by just looking at a nice body, he was stronger than that...Wasn't he?

Tino breathed out through his nose and wrung his fingers into the scratchy and dull colored wool. He nodded to himself. Yes, he would hold himself chaste until Berwald could show him that he devotedly loved the small Finn. Clenching his teeth and nodding once more, Tino allowed his breath to settle and his nervousness to quiet.

"I'll leave ya' ta' ch'nge, br'ng ya' breakf'st in b't... Aft'r that, I'll t'ke ya ta see th' meat st'rage..." Berwald mumbled out, standing up straight, his head barely touching the thickly stitched leather tarps.

"I'd like to check on Peter first if you don't mind..." Tino whispered impishly before sinking back under the covers, his body suddenly becoming more hot than he'd like it to. Berwald looked up to the now shy boy and nodded sternly, grabbing his discarded tunic that was collecting dust on the floor. Berwald shook it against his legs a few times before sliding it on and over his head. Tino doing his best to shift his gaze down to his blanketed toes, anything to keep his mind off of the tall and damnably handsome Swede.

After a few more seconds of eating up time in the slowly warming hut, Berwald sighed with an excess of air and,grumbling, opened the flaps of the tarps and exited hastily, his eyes still stern and glaring, a slight pink blush dancing along his pale face.

After Tino was left alone in the musty aired hut he went about dressing himself quickly. He found his borrowed tunic and breeches, boots and belt all piled neatly on the floor at his feet. He sighed and, feeling a bit embarrassed, slipped out of the warm and fluffy blankets and animal hides to patter around in the hut, slipping on the summer blue tunic that felt like warm snugly fur against his skin. He then, sitting on his rump, tugged on his trousers till they slid over cozily on his round and girlish hips. After slinking and buckling the thin strip of leather over his waist, he lazily stretched the soft leather goat hide boots on his small dainty feet.

After he was all done with dressing himself, he decided to look around at his surroundings. The early morning sun had already washed against the tan ox and deer hide tarps, letting in a heavy stream of light that warmed against Tino's face. A thin layer of dust covered everything except for the low set table that was piled to death with parchment. Against the edges of the tarps, heavy rocks had been laid from the outside onto the draping edges to keep the tent flaps in place in case of rough winds or flooding.

All along the tent were pinned animal hides, rabbit, fox, bison and reindeer skins that boasted that the Swedes leader was a marvelous hunter. Tino ran his hands over the thick and bristly coats of the skinned animals till he left to wander around the low set tables.

The honeyed wood was smooth and sanded, the ringlets of the knots in the wood glassy to the touch. All along the table were scattered scrolls glossed together with leaves and sap and thin parchments made from stretched rabbit skin. Scratchy handwriting in milky ink was scrawled in Swedish all along the scrolls. Tino bit his lip and ran his hands lightly over the tough and waxy surface of each leaflet. He recognized some words, but very little. They seemed to be battle plans that were written in long and sharp letters, a few small little drawings exemplifying things such as a river, a valley, or a little bump or boulder along Swedish lands.

Underneath the thin flakes of parchment laid sprawled out, a huge map, with faded blue, green, red and black ink all painted with ease illustrating the entire crags of mountains, flat lush meadows, and thick green forests. Even the high cliffs and swirling water was drawn out with suburb workmanship. Next to the crumpled edges of the paper was a low lipped ink well, the black pooling liquid thick and sluggish in the little pot.

Tino veered to the left of the large map, lightly running his hands along it, mindful of the little clay moldings that had been perched upon the yellow and musty paper. Triangles, squares, large slabs of rectangles, each of them representing something like troops, ships, war ponies, messengers and archers, all poised in silent stillness in red brass colored clay... It left Tino amazed.

So the Swede's and Danish were really fighting a war against the Russians. Tino sighed heavily and looked back to the tarp openings. He silently wondered how many each tribe had lost? How long the battles have been raging on? Who was winning the war...? He knew by now that Nikolas was probably healing the wounded soldiers that emerged from the battle field. Soon he would be called to help the wounded men as well, only time would tell until his meager talents were put to use to help injured and bleeding young warriors.

Tino frowned before he smoothed his hands over the map one more time before rearranging everything the way he found it, in pristine condition. After sliding his feet around the dusty floor, he picked up some clothing and blankets that littered the ground, picking up dirt and grime. He found an empty basket and folded up the discarded clothing and wraps in the wicker basket. Next he shuffled over to the big lumpy bed and picked apart the mass of blankets one by one,folding them back in place in neat creases on the stitched hay filled mattress till the mismatched blanketed bed was nicely made. Admiring his work he placed his hands on his hips triumphantly. He sighed heavily and wiped his brow, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Running his hands over the rugged fibers of the blankets he involuntarily blushed.

He had already slept in a bed with a man. A handsome man, a sweet, gentle and kind man. But a man none the less. Tino sighed again into the fumingly warmer air. It wasn't his fault that his physical attraction to the man was slowly building each and every second that the Swede showed himself in eyes view. Tino was only human, he had urges too. His body was still growing and he had taken special notice to try and prevent the damnable red blush that always seemed to stain his cheeks whenever he came in contact with the giant Swedish beast of a man. It wasn't wrong. He just didn't know if it was wrong to consider laying with Berwald. Tino was sure he wouldn't enjoy it, that it would hurt, rip or make him bleed like the village girls had told him it would. Berwald was strong and powerful, he would undoubtedly not be gentle or kind to the virgin Finn.

He knew some of his tribesmen would try to tell him that laying with a man would cause trouble for Tino, but the thought of being with a man never seemed to disgust or seem sinful to him. If the Gods could have physical relations with men, then damned it why couldn't Tino!* But...

But did he want to? Did he want to lay with the Swede? Have those strong and powerful arms that were bred to kill and slaughter, hold him around his small and breakable body while he whispered sweet nothings into his ears. Did he want to run his own slender hands over those taunt muscles that had been created solely for the use of combat? To kiss those warm lips again, only to realize that they were the same lips that barked out orders and sent men to their death on the battle fields? Tino shook his head, no, he didn't think he did. Red throws of a stain had already begun to streak his face. He didn't even know how two men could even begin to lay together!

Tino quietly fidgeted with his hands. He wondered if this was how Nikolas felt, when he was first brought here. He wondered if he hated the fact at that he was falling in love with his captor, that it stung and burrowed a hole deep into his heart. But... Tino paused, his violet eyes gleaming brightly against the newly awakened sunlight.

It didn't have to be like that. It _wasn't_ like that. Tino simply could not possess the full hatred that he once had for the man any more. Berwald was a viking yes, and Tino was a impish, tiny, small, petite little healer. But maybe things would work out for the better. Maybe Tino could wrench open his heart, put his emotions, his thoughts, his dreams on display for the mighty Lion leader to see. He was starting to trust Berwald. Soon he would let the man, if he proved himself, hold his heart in his claw tipped hands, let the giant gaze into the red flesh and really see the love from it drip out. Love... Tino shook his head in disbelief. Oh how his life had been turned upside down like a small fishing raft tossed at sea. Whatever the Gods had in store for him, well, it better be worth all this lovesick trouble...

Yes he could dislike the title of wife, of mother, of _Damen Lejon._.. But like Nikolas said. He couldn't change it now. He would have to live with it. The mighty Goddess's Freya and Sjofna had already seemed to bite him deeply with the poison known as love.*

Yet, already things were looking brighter, better. Tino could go at his own pace and take his time in loving the man. No one could tell him other wise. No one could tell him to be quiet, to speak when spoken to, to bring in the meals, to mend clothing, to wait patiently in the tent, to stay in the bed like a concubine or simple handmaiden. He had a bit of control now, what he chose to do with it was entirely up to him.

He ran his hands against the flaxen and wool blankets once more, feeling better, more confident, stronger than ever before. He was about to sigh out with contentment when he heard the slithering of the leather flaps being pulled open with hesitation. Tino looked up quickly to see the stern glare of the Swedish leader as he pushed open the animal hide tent flaps with his shoulder, his body hunched slightly.

The man was burdened with a round low set woven basket settled with food that was spiraling steam and wonderful smells. Tino watched the man with suddenly confident eyes as the Swede sheepishly trudged inside the tent awkwardly, as if he was intruding. Tino smiled somewhat smugly. Oh yes, he seemed to have a good bout of control, maybe more than he had thought.

"Ya didn't h've ta' clean up in here, h'ndmaid's 'll do it..." Berwald rumbled out.

Tino shrugged. "Its not problem. I do the chores at home all by my self, I don't need anyone waiting on me..." He said neutrally .

Tino followed the man with his violet eyes, watching as the tall Swede set down a wide and shallow wicker basket laden with food on another low fitted table, this once clear of any maps or scrolls. A little skinny clay cup filled with water was placed in the middle of the furniture, a delicate little bloom of meadow-sweet dangling from the cup, the dot like petals looking like a sweet mist.

Berwald pushed a chair back from under the table and motioned for Tino to sit down, his sea green glare never melting away from his face. Tino, caught in the unrelenting shift of the stormy eyes, immediately squirmed lightly in his boots but quickly sat himself down in hay and cloth cushioned chair, his hands fidgeting in his lap, knuckles turning white from his own clenched fingers. So much for being in control...

Berwald sat himself down next to the Finn, tucking his long and muscular legs underneath the low set table. Tino watched as the leader of the Norther Lions Tribe heaved up a wooden plate laden with a hearty selection of foods. Immediately Tino's mouth began to water as his grumbling stomach could not be calmed or hushed. Tino turned a sudden bright red as his tummy made a harsh grumble, demanding nourishment. Berwald chuckled softly, deeply.

Tino furrowed his brow but grabbed at a thick slab of rye bread on his plate, the still warm bread dusting his fingers with the grainy flour. Tino took a big bite out of the loaf and chewed thickly, not bothering to enjoy the taste.

Berwald was a bit slower, milder in his feasting. The man picked up his own piece of bread and sopped it up into a clump of golden honey, Tino watching the nectar like treat slide down the rough edges of the bread like molasses. Still chewing madly, Tino watched as the man bit into the lathered bread and chewed softly, his jaw moving up and down in a steady stream that, unbeknownst to him, memorized the Finn.

Tino, realizing that he was beginning to gawk, suddenly cleared his throat and clutched a clay mug of watered down mead, the crisp spices in the liquid doing wonders to keep the Finn's shoulders from shaking. After a few nervous gulps of the golden liquid Tino looked back to Berwald, his cheeks powdering a light pink. He resisted the urge to rub his face to get rid of the damnable color.

"I...I'm sorry about waking you up this morning... I didn't mean to...You see, there was this dog, and she was-"

"D'g?" Berwald breathed out, biting a bit of creamy white cheese. The man chewed it thoughtfully, watching Tino with cautious eyes.

"Ah, yes! There was this dog, a bright white color, and she came in this morning and was licking me on my face. Well, after that she was making a run for it and she was about to pounce on you so I tried to grab her, but she was too fast, and well, she just ran away and I ended up falling on you..." Tino stopped in his mad rush of communication to glace back down at his lap, is fingers lulling and churning frightfully. Why was he so nervous? He was just eating with the man, there was no special connection, no underlining of romantic nervousness. They were just eating a meal for Gods sakes! It was not like it was a candle lit dinner complete with spiced wine and harp. Tino bit his lip. Oh this man was certainly taking a toll on his patience.

Berwald nodded and made a grunt deep in his throat, picking up a wooden bowl full of barely mash fattened with bits of rabbit meat. He brought the bowl to his lips and, to Tino's shock, slurped it from the lip of the bowl. After getting a mouthful the man chewed softly before he swallowed and returned his gaze back to the little Finn who was by now nervously sucking the sour air of the hut deep in his throat.

"It's a str'y d'g... She gets out s'me t'mes, c'uses a r'ckas..." Berwald explained quietly, finishing his barely mash in a few quick seconds. He sat the wooden bowl down and placed his hands down upon the wooden table surface, Tino following suit.

"Does she have a name?" Tino mumbled out, keeping his eyes away from the stern and monstrous sea colored glare. Berwald shook his head slowly in a silent 'no' before taking a deep draught from the slowly cooling mead set upon the table.

"Why not? She so cute..." _and_ _mischievous..._ "She should have a name that suits her, and a good home..." Tino said, forcing himself to push a few green grapes past his lips, feeling his stomach churn and become queasy. Perhaps he should go lie down for a bit...

"C'uldn't th'nk of a good enough n'me, didn't even kn'w she hung around th' t'nts..." Berwald mumbled simply, sitting up straighter in the tense and awkward air of the hut. Somewhere outside the toll of a metal hammer against a blacksmiths anvil rung through out the tent, but save for that, it was all quite. Too quiet. Drowning quiet.

"Oh..." Tino muttered underneath his breath. Well. It seemed that the Swedish Viking had an awfully quiet tongue...

"I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you so far.. I'm sorry I embarrassed you in front of your troops... But, well. To be honest, your declaration of me as your wife frightened me. Badly." Tino whispered out, his breath feeling a bit more courageous as it shook past his quivering lips. Tino would still not meet the mans eyes, but he managed to hold onto a few flakes of anger as he spoke.

Berwald shut his eyes softly, placing his elbows on the wooden surface of the table he balanced his chin in his clasped hands, his eyes sliding back open like a lion woken up from a long nap, weary, tired, and a bit disorientated.

"I'm s'rry... I sh'uldn't h've t'ken adv'nt'ge of ya' l'ke that..." Berwald whispered, his voice deep and sincere, seeming to seep and pool into Tino's ears and mind. It made the Finn sigh out involuntarily.

"Sh'uldn't h've...k'ssed ya' so soon..." He added through strained teeth, as it he wished he could take the action back. His voice sounded as if it was as anxious and nervous as the little Finn, if not more. Berwald downcast his eyes to the floor, the first inklings of shame breathing against his face.

Tino blushed madly and looked down at his partially empty plate, pushing a few husks of hazelnut shells around with his index finger.

"No...you shouldn't have...But you did." Tino suddenly raised his eyes to meet Berwald's dead on, forcing the giants gaze to remain on the Finns, discouraging him to look away. Berwald cleared his throat weakly. Berwald knew that he shouldn't have rushed things like the way he had. But he was just too damn excited, too damn happy. Seeing Tino, the beautiful color of his hair, his sweet voice when he was comforting Peter, those shiny violet eyes and his cute round like face... It made Berwald's heart jump and beat wildly. But he had caused his first chances of pleasing the little Finn to crumble. He had rushed, dove in without testing the waters, ultimately drowning in the sea.

Tino was like a sweet yet temperamental pony that Berwald had ruined by shoving the iron bit into its mouth too soon, dissolving all attempts of patience. Of course he was not comparing the petite and beautiful Finn to that of a pony! No, of course not. It was just that he had tried to break the little man, when he should have been earning his trust instead. Berwald hated himself for that.

"I have accepted my fate as your wife. I cannot fight the will of the Gods, my destiny has already been set..." The well of Urd had already seemed fit to drench Tino in its waters, leaving him cold, shivering and raw.* But if this was to be his new life, he was going to bite back the pain and deal with it.

Berwald's eyes widened slightly, as if something had just bit him on his nose, his face showing bewilderment. Tino kept his eyes steady, cool, willing the pink tint on his cheeks to melt away.

"But I will be _damned_ to let anyone take advantage of me again. If you want a wife, then you have to earn it. I will not be like some long haired flaxen maiden, eager to open up my legs for the first sweetest of whispers, nor will I be swayed by a mans good looks." Tino took a shaky breath, his cheeks turning an even more crimson color. He was loosing his nerve.

Berwald nodded frantically, his mouth turning dry as if he had swallowed a handful of sand.

"I will do everythin' to pr've to yoo th't I truly l've ya'..." Berwald said with a flurry of words, his body sitting up straighter, hands grabbing the top of the table. Tino opened his mouth but closed it with a small snap. He shifted his eyes over the giant and gritted his teeth.

"When you truly earn my love, then I will let you take me as your wife. But for now, I have some conditions..."

Berwald swallowed the last of his drink gratingly, slowly. He nodded stiffly, his eyes serious, stern. Tino wriggled in nervousness under that gaze.

"Well...First, I will only be addressed as 'Momma' in Peter's presence until further notified..." Berwald nodded obediently, biding Tino to continue. The Finn nodded with him and took a deep breath, his fingers shaking slightly.

"Secondly, whatever medicines, treatments or tactics I use to cure Peter must always be followed. I wish for no questioning in my methods of healing. In return I promise your son will be fully recovered by the end of this war, perhaps even sooner." Tino swallowed out thickly, taking a few hesitant sips of his mead, the liquid having cooled down enough to take a heavy swig. Once again, Berwald nodded.

Tino took a big breath and swallowed harshly.

"Third and lastly, I want control over myself." Tino said with the inklings of defiance. Berwald blinked slowly, unsure of what the Finn meant. Tino cleared his throat.

"I know what the role of wife entails..." Tino breathed out hotly. "A babe at the breast, a place at the hearth, a life living obediently in a hut sewing ripped trousers and stirring cooking pots. I want none of it. I am not saying I will not help with the domestic work, I will cook, clean, and of course I will take care of Peter like his own mother would _if need be_. But there are certain things that I want control over. Certain things that I will not do." Tino took a shaking breath of air, his cheeks turning an uncontrollable red. Berwald stood as solid and silent as a boulder, his eyes never leaving Tino's flower petal violet ones.

"I will not do certain things that will surely be expected of me in...the bedroom... At least not until I'm ready..." Tino hid his face, turning his neck to the side. He did his best in adverting his eyes, not even bothering to hide his raging blush.

Tino's breath tingled as it left his lips, his eye lashes fluttering against his cheeks, his heart painfully drumming against his rib cage. Of course he had not lacked to draw the conclusion that Berwald would want to officially claim Tino as his wife in such a way. Tino was not so innocent to realize that men could share a physical relationship together as well as man and woman. He didn't exactly know how, but if Nikolas and Mathias shared a bed, well, they must be doing something more than sleeping, right? Tino bit his bottom lip hard, his face burning like a coal against the flames of a winter bonfire.

Berwald blinked rapidly, his shoulders slightly slumping backward, his breathing becoming more harsher than usual, causing his heart to speed up dangerously. Did he just hear correctly? Berwald felt his brain make a sputtering halt as all the blood drained from his head, making him incredibly dizzy.

Did Tino really think Berwald would force himself on the little man? That Berwald would be so coarse, so indecent, so sex-starved that he would throw Tino down on the mattress and bed him against his will? Of course, the idea of making love to the Finn was nothing new in Berwald's mind. He was attracted to Tino's good looks and supple body as well as his kind and temperate heart. But the giant Swede would never, ever, take advantage of the Finn in such a way.

Berwald would hate himself, he would never be able to forgive himself if such a thought ever crept into his mind. He loved Tino, dearly, truly, devotedly. He would wait for the Finn to be ready to give himself willingly. If the Finn was never ready to take that severe plunge into the relationship, than Berwald would simply never make love to him. Berwald cared too much about this young little lad already. He would rather die a virgin than jeopardize their already strained relationship.

"T'no... I w'uld n'ver-" Berwald was about to explain to the young Finn that he would never, ever take Tino's virginity against his will, that he would never hold him in such a sweet embrace until he was ready, when the slither and shift of the tarps behind them was heard. Both males, red faced and breathing harshly turned towards the tent opening with a bit of a jump, their knuckles drilling into the arms of the chairs they were seated in.

Awkwardly, sheepishly, a young man of about sixteen stumbled into the tent, his hands behind his back, eyes down cast. He quickly bowed low to the ground, his hands clasped to one another.

"Ah...Par—Pardon me... But, I hav' news, m'lord..." The young man raised his bright cornflower blue eyes to look at Berwald, his speech guttered but not as bad as the tribes leader. Berwald grunted and motioned for the man to speak, wiping his face with his hands, trying to dispel the blush mounted on his cheeks.

The young boy walked softly to the table, situating himself to stand next to Berwald, his ocean blue tunic being wrenched in his hands tightly from nervousness.

"Lord Mathias has requested that th' battle trainin' begin earlier this mornin', as his soldiers are already saddled an' armored." The young Swedish lad, golden hair spun atop his head, spoke with sudden timidness, a frock of fair hair braided loosely with a few clay beads.

Berwald made an riled sound deep in his throat. He sighed tiredly and nodding, sat up. He wiped his bearish hands on a small napkin before setting the cloth down, annoyed at being interrupted by Mathias's idiocy.

"Wh'n does he w'nt to start th' tr'nin'?" Berwald grumbled out, pushing his chair out to stand to his full wicked height. Tino swallowed harshly, his blush from their conversation from before still lightly plastered on his face.

The young wide eyed soldier frowned. "Now... He says th' sooner th' better..."

Berwald furrowed his brow with irritation before sighing deeply.

"I'll be th're... S'ddle up m' h'rse and tie 'er up near the p'ddocks..." Berwald grumbled. He turned back to Tino and walked towards the awkwardly sitting Finn. Berwald held his paw-like hand for Tino to take, his sea green eyes showing a soft and dewy kindness. Tino bit his lip, but, aided by the admired look from the young soldier, the Finn lightly placed his hand delicately in Berwald's letting the giant help him up from his chair. Tino's pride be damned.

After Tino was settled to his feet Berwald reluctantly let go of the Finnish mans hand, already loving the feel of those soft little fingers clasped in his. It was amazing how the small petite man could make Berwald's heart soar and make him feel fumingly warm, like a loaf of baking bread in an oven. The Finn truly was wonderful in every way. Berwald felt so lucky to even be in the young lads presence.

The blonde haired soldier shifted in his step for a mere moment before he darted his eyes quickly to Tino, his gaze sheepish and in awe. Tino blinked rapidly, completely dumbfound.

"Also... The _Damen Ulv_ wishes to walk in the company of the _Damen Lejon_ this mornin' to cut and grind herbs near the forest river, if the Lady Lion permits it..."* The smaller man looked to Tino, his blue eyes trained with wonderment on the small little Finn. Tino took a few squeamish struggled sips of air.

_Damen Ulv_? Who was that?

At Tino's confused face, Berwald spoke up in his rumbling voice.

"He m'ans Nikolas..." Berwald mumbled out, already unfastening the leather cords to his dull and worn leather armor, the chain and bits and flakes of mail clinking slightly from the movement of Berwald's fingers sifting through them.

"Oh..." Tino breathed out upon realization. The young soldier looked at him expectantly, fidgeting in place.

"Yes... I...I permit it." Tino met the sheepish boys gaze and suddenly the soldier smiled brightly, bowing and exiting the hut in a mad dash.

"Your soldiers sure are... friendly..." Tino mumbled out to Berwald who was strapping a leather scabbard to his waist, the edges of a sword hilt poking out and gleaming a bright gold.

"It's 'cause you're m' br'de... Th'y h've ta' treat ya' w'th respect..." Berwald mumbled out, standing before Tino, his tall and intimidating height seeming to grow larger standing next to the short Finn.

Tino's eyes widened with embarrassment before he looked down at his soft goat skinned boots. That's right. He was to be their leaders bride. He would become the Lady of a tribe of people that were complete strangers to him. Tino sighed out with haggard breath, oh how his life had been torn apart...

Berwald turned his body to unlatch a long spear as thick as Tino's arm from against the stiff leather walls. He grabbed the grip of the brass tipped spear and looked back to Tino.

"I'm sorry I h've ta' go help Mathias...We'll go get th' h'rbs and look at th' meat st'rage later, 'kay?" Berwald grumbled, lightly walking over to the slightly opened tarp flaps. Tino nodded and walked towards the opened flaps, his little feet padding over the hay covered floor.

"Okay... Also, if its okay with you, I'd like to check on Peter now—make a list of all the ingredients I'll need." Tino murmured tiredly, letting Berwald hold the flaps open for him as he walked out of the tent.

The giant of a man nodded and stared down at Tino, his eyes stone hard, but with a few flecks of apparent kindness.

"I'll meet ya at th' paddocks, we'll t'ke s'me ponies up to th' forest..." Berwald mumbled and it was Tino's turn to nod in agreement.

As soon as Tino and Berwald walked into the early bright morning light, all around them people hushed in their work to take a low dip to the ground or a bow, some muttering a cheerful 'good mornin'' or a sheepish 'h'llo'.

Tino looked out to the small huts that dotted the grounds of the war camp, the small sprigs of wild flowers scattered across the horse stomped grass, the little children laughing and giggling as they played with their corn dollies or wooden swords. He tried his best to smile at the native people who were going about with their daily chores, leading thirsty war ponies to the river, heaving baskets of eggs, burdening themselves with slings of lumber. They didn't care about Tino's past. They didn't care that he was a man, that he was Finnish, that he flat out rejected this life yesterday. They simply didn't care.

They all smiled at him.

They all wished him a 'good mornin''.

They all met him with kind eyes.

They all acted like he belonged.

Tino blinked softly, unaccustomed to such accepting people, such happiness in a small village that was in a heated war. Such happiness because of him. It was...humbling.

Berwald's voice suddenly broke the dewy eyed trance of the Finn, making him jump a bit, rubbing the back of his head from nervousness. Berwald stared down at him with his usual glare, but there was a spark of mischief, of laughter that seemed to break another seam in the Finn's heart.

"Yer' s'fe ta' w'nder 'round camp... No one'll g've ya' trouble. But keep with'n camp bounds, th're are R'ss'an en'mies close by..." Berwald warned, his left hand holding the tall and frighteningly impending spear, right hand fiddling with the tarp straps.

Tino nodded vigorously, his dove colored hair bouncing up and down in the sunlight, covering his face like a shaggy dog. Berwald chuckled lightly before ruffling Tino's hair with his wide hand in a friendly gesture, unconsciously brushing his fingers against the Finn's velvety cheek. Tino gasped from the touch and blushed hotly, craning his neck away a bit, unable to catch himself. He looked up at the barbarian with wide and startled eyes, mouth gaping as if he were a deer caught in a hunters snare. Berwald, eyes as wide as the moon herself, immediately stopped his attempted amiable gesture and pulled back as if he had touched something scorching hot. He quickly cleared his throat.

"Ah... W'll. See yoo at th' paddocks..." Berwald rumbled deep in his throat before he reluctantly retracted his hand and placed it alongside his body, the fingers shaking slightly. Tino breathed out into the warming summer air, his throat becoming undesirably dry. He opened his mouth to say something, an apology, an excuse, anything! But once again, the words would not spill from his mouth, choosing instead to stay nestled in his throat.

Tino watched with sudden gloominess as Berwald turned his back and began to walk east, towards the sloping meadows that Tino guessed housed the training grounds and paddocks. Tino bit his lip, watching with lulling sadness as the man trudged away slowly, obviously put off by Tino's reluctance to accept affection, even simple friendly affection with no strings attached. Berwald had done something sweet and naturally loving on impulse and Tino had ruined it by being too modest and bristly. The Finn sighed heatedly before he squared his shoulders and picked up his feet, trotting along the dirt and partly muddied path to catch up with the giant's long steps.

Berwald suddenly stopped his feet as soon as he felt something tug at his tunic sleeves. He turned downward, his eyebrows furrowed, a confused look muddled over his face. His eyes became surprised as he gazed down at Tino, a healthy red hue gracing his cheeks.

The Finn fidgeted in his steps before he lightly mumbled something under his breath.

" I forgot to mention, in my list of demands..." Tino breathed out, meeting Berwald's eye with a small amount of kindness. Berwald down to meet Tino's face, his gaze almost puzzled. Tino cleared his throat and, doing his best to whisper, spoke lightly. "Tonight, if you'd like, you may hold me again in bed...B-but only if you keep yourself chaste..." The Finn added quickly, his face quickening to a bright red that could put a roosters crown to shame. He noted with shame and recklessness that he himself was beginning to weaken the locks and chains on his heart. But it was worth it, he couldn't bare to see the sight of the Swedish man with a sorrowful gaze. It was that realization that frighted Tino more than anything. _Oh my Gods! I'm feeling guilty about not being kind to him!_ Tino snapped at himself with confusion and worry.

The Viking could only stand their dumbly, fingers clenching silently at his sides, his mouth parted in a speechless stupor.

"Well?" Tino asked nervously. Berwald, realizing that the Finn wanted him to answer, quickly nodded briskly and blinked wildly, like a Troll woken from a deep sleep by the rays of the blinding sun. Tino, a smear of red still painted on his cheeks, nodded before he trotted clumsily back down the thin and upturned road, headed for Peter's sick tent.

Berwald was simply left to stand their in the middle of the road, his own people that had watched the scene left to giggle and smile at the sweet little bit of affection that their proud and masculine leader had just received.

…...

"Say 'Ahhh'..." Tino cooed to the squirming seven year old boy who was practically throwing a fit at having a wooden stick shoved down his throat.

"Nooooooo!" Peter whined, twisting his head back and forth, his mouth clamped shut tight, eyes wild like an angry terrier.

"Peter! I am your Momma, and you will do as I say!" Tino mumbled out sharply, holding the tongue press in his fingers, his hands on his damnable feminine hips. At that heated call for obedience, Peter grumbled and pouted but allowed his Momma to place the thin wooden stick against his tongue. Tino, pushing down with enough pressure to get the boys tightened mouth to open up wide, veered into the little British child's mouth.

Tino sighed. The phlegm was still there, coated deeply along the boys tongue, a dull jeering yellow. The little dots of blood had gone, swallowed away no doubt by the boys persistent sour throat. Tino had talked to Peter's wet nurse as he had walked into the little boys hut. The woman, thank the Gods, knew a bit of Finnish and Tino was able to converse with her. She had told him that they had done everything that he had instructed. They had changed the bedding to dry winter yellow hay, soaked it in water and dried it again until the fluffy fodder was good enough to be stuffed into fresh and clean mattress sacks and pillow cases. The blankets had also been changed, washed thoroughly and tucked tightly into the beds wooden frame. No animal pelts were scattered against the bedding, even the floors had been neatly swept, the soft dirt combed and patted down.

Tino ran his hand soothingly against the child's forehead, pushing back the recently soaped locks of the little sandy blonde boy, his bushy eye brows clenched in a pout.

"Next time I want Momma to give me a bath..." Peter mumbled out, his breathing still a bit forced, still a bit dry. Tino sighed but smiled happily, truthfully.

"Okay. Next time I'll give you a bath." He promised, fluffing up the blankets from around the sickly child.

"With bubbles?"

Tino sighed humorously. "Yes. With bubbles." He promised, setting the tongue presser in a pale kept for garbage. Peter made a sound of triumph as he allowed the petite Finnish man to lift up his tunic to show his belly. Tino's eyes widened, his mouth letting out a startled gasp.

"Momma? Momma what's wrong?" Peter asked out into the warm air of the tent, his voice slightly worried, his hands holding up his tunic. "Momma?"

Tino blinked quickly before laughing nervously. "Yes of course sweetie, everything is fine. Perfectly fine." Tino whispered out, running his hands along the boys warm stomach. Peter furrowed his brows in disbelief but let it go, choosing to look up at the ceiling of the tarps.

Tino brought his hand to his mouth and sighed sadly, running is fingers along the slightly scarred body of the little boy. Brick red marks, about four of them, formed bumpy circular scars against the pale and slightly freckled skin of the boy. Tino bit his lip and ran his index fingers along the boys hot flesh, feeling with despair the upturn of the flesh from the wounds. They were internal, that Tino knew. The upturn of flesh was rough and chaffed, the color a dull and painful red. Tino had seen this before, he remembered Nikolas treating it a long time ago. Tino couldn't quite remember himself how such an illness could be taken care of. He would have to describe it to Nikolas, see if the Norwegian could prescribe anything to help. If only he could remember what the illness was called, then he was sure he'd be able to recall the correct treatments for healing the illness.

Tino chewed on his bottom lip before standing up from his position on the edge of the bed, his feet pattering over to the medical table stuffed to the brim with surgical supplies. Tino took a small mortar and pestle, a handful of the powdery crushed bark of the slippery Elm, a slab of honey, and a small drinking horn filled with freshly drawn spring water.* He scurried back to Peter and quickly, thoroughly, filled the granite mortar bowl with the handful of tan powdery bark, adding a few drops of honey, and a few pinches of water to create a thick and sticky mash. After scrapping it around in the little bowl, Tino scooped the arid mixture onto his fingers and applied a healthy helping of it to the boys stomach.

Peter giggled and squirmed, claiming that the mixture was too cold and tickled. But, with much patience on Tino's part, the Finn was able to get the entire portion of the mixture safely on Peter's stomach, spreading it generously on the boys slightly engorged belly.

After the sour/sweet smelling mixture was layered on the circular marks, Tino went to wash his hands in a pale of water, drying them off with a scrap of cloth.

"How long do I have to stay like this?" Peter whined, his tunic skirts up to his chin, hands laying with boredom at his sides. Tino gave a sweet reassuring smile.

"For at least ten minutes. Don't pick at it or I'll have to do it all over again!" Tino warned playfully, patting the boy atop the head. Peter grumbled but nodded, promising with heated breath that he would be a good boy and leave the putty-like medicine alone.

Tino only hoped that the medicine would help clear up whatever it was that was ailing the small boy. By now Tino could safety say that it was an infection of something. What exactly Tino didn't know. It could just be a matter of time till whatever it was left Peter's body naturally. Tino only hoped it would be soon, he didn't think the Swedish leader could take any more blows to his morale. Tino himself would be devastated if the little boy did not recover. It seemed the Swedish leaders son brought out the best in him. The Finnish man could be completely calm and together, happy and sweet in the boys presence. It relaxed him and it felt wonderful. Tino was not normally a hostile person, but put him in a situation that calls for action and he'll come up on top like a wild beast.

Tino paused in his thinking before his brain conjured up something that made his heart pound uncontrollably against his rib cage. If he was to marry Berwald, did that mean that Peter was to be his son? Tino bit the inside of his cheek, his head swimming with worry, nervousness, and even happiness. Tino would love to have a son like the stubborn and adventurous British boy... But could he do it? Could he be wife and mother? He was sure he could love Peter like his own, he already did. Tino sighed into the cleaner air of the hut, his nerves being rattled from all end. Him. A Parent. Tino shook his head with exhaustion, a furrowed smile pursed on his lips.

"Peter honey, what did you eat today? Did you have any diarrhea or vomiting?" Tino asked, beginning to lightly prodding at the boys neck, feeling for any bumps or irregularities along the boys sweat sticky neck. The boy shook his head, coughing slightly as Tino pressed down on the space near the boys collar bone.

"Nothing that bad, Momma. Pappa gave me some yummy broth with some rabbit meat caught just this morning and some stewed cabbage. It tasted much better that the icky food they served at the orphanage!" Peter stuck out his tongue and made a silly disgusted voice, rolling his eyes back playfully into his head.

"All I ever ate there was 'scones' and 'tea' and 'mince meat pie'!" Peter cried out with annoyance, placing his fingers over his already bushy brows, making them appear bigger.

"Everyday it was always 'Wut Wut?' and 'Cheerio ya old bloke!'" Peter giggled, imitating his past care taker with a bright smile in his laughter. Tino chuckled softly.

"That's a good impression Peter, you could perform for the troops..." Tino muttered, trailing his hands delicately downward, exerting bits of pressure here and there along the boys warm flesh, a smile still on his face.

"I'm going to give you a bit of raspberry tea each morning for your tummy aches, okay? You have to promise to drink all of it up. It will make your belly feel much better and happier."* Tino mumbled kindly. The bushy browed boy nodded vigorously. He reached up with his fingers and wiped some snot from his nose.

Tino pulled his fingers back from the boys neck and picked up a small quill, the feather oily and slightly torn. The Finnish man dipped the quill in a pot of sluggish and grainy ink, the tip of the sliced feather dropping a light smear of the pitch black liquid. Tino lightly dabbed the feather tip to a piece of stretched and thick parchment, writing down his findings, his treatment plans, and what he believed to be the cause of Peter's illness.

After scrawling down his findings on the piece of paper, he set it to dry, and turned back to his patient who was grumbling and fidgeting in the confines of his bed, the mash on his stomach hardening slightly.

Tino smiled at the boy and, being merciful, lightly chipped off the crumbling milky powder with his slender fingers till the light brown mixture was completely cleaned off and thrown into the garbage pale. Tino folded his hands over the boys stomach again and lightly ran his hands over the bumps. The anti inflammatory mixture didn't seem to help as much as Tino had hoped it would. The marks were still there, as bright and red as ever, the ridges had even stayed, scraggly and a bit chaffed. Tino furrowed his brow. Well, it certainly wasn't a skin disease...

"I'll be back later today to see how you're feeling, alright Peter? I want you to drink lots of water, warmed preferably, and a lot of broth. Can you do that for me?" Tino asked, scuffing up the little boys hair. The boy nodded and gave a bright and boyish smile, making Tino smile as well.

Tino sat up from the bed and began to tuck the boy into the blankets tighter, wiping his head with a dampened cloth. The boy coughed slightly before resting his head against the lumpy pillows, snuggling up in the warm blankets.

Tino walked over to the slightly opened tarps and undid a few knots of the leather cords, letting in a bit more of the sweet air from outside travel inside the room and nestle into the hut. Tino sighed out contentedly before he picked up the now dry inked parchment paper and folded it into four quarters before tucking it into his boot. He gave Peter a final once over before he patted the boy lovingly on the head.

"I'll come visit you later okay? You try to get better, get some sleep if you can..." Tino mumbled,wiping a few strands of hair from the boys pale white forehead. Peter nodded weakly before he shrugged his body deep into the mass of blankets.

Tino nodded to himself and smiled at the boy once again, before he began to lightly walk towards the tarp openings, but a feeble voice suddenly stopped him.

"Momma, do you love me?"

Tino froze, standing near the tarps, his hands folded into the deer and bison hide leather walls. Tino made a slow turn back towards the bed and softly made his way to kneel by the bed side of the sick child. Tino held Peter's small hand in his, marveling at the child's soft and somewhat chubby fingers.

"Yes Peter. I love you very much." Tino answered truthfully, kissing the little boys brow lightly, his violet eyes shining bright with unleashed maternal love. The little boy grinned merrily.

"How much?" He demanded, his watery and shiny eyes lighting up. Tino's lips upturned into a sweet smile before he looked down at the little face of the boy. He really did love the boy. He thought, just maybe, becoming a mother wouldn't be so bad... Perhaps him and Berwald could meld together to create the perfect family that Peter needed... Perhaps...

"I love you more than all the stars in the sky, more than all the leaves on the trees, more than all the drops of water in the ocean, more than all the fish in the sea..." Tino lightly poked Peter in the nose, making the boy giggle with laughter.

" I love you more than all the grains of sand on the beach, more than all the wild flowers in a meadow, more than all the flakes of snow in winter, more than all the colors of a rainbow..." Tino whispered soothingly to the little boy, making the boys grin turn into something more sincere, more genuine, more innocent.

"Do you love _Pappa_?" Peter questioned, his voice a bit more serious, eyes wide and waiting, watching for the Finn's reaction.

Tino blinked rapidly at the question, feeling his pulse beat and jump in his throat. His face began to grow hot and his fingers tensed over the fabric of the bedding. Tino swallowed harshly and knew that he couldn't lie. He had to be truthful. He had to confess to something that he didn't want to. His heart was already being pulled in so many directions, making so many twists and turns that it hurt. But it was a good hurt. A necessary hurt. It was a special emotion that made Tino's heart fit to burst, and it was that special emotion that coursed and flew through Tino's body like an ever growing fever. Tino sighed out, his voice a low whisper, like a doves wings taking flight on a clear morning.

He looked into the big blue eyes of the little boy, his little Peter. He looked into those eyes and felt his lips part, a small, warm tear sliding down his pale face. Tino took a shaky breath and decided he couldn't lie. Not any more. Not to himself...

"Yes. I think I do..."

…...

** You have no clue how long this damn chapter took to make...*Gah* Oh little Finn, you cannot lie to yourself, oh no you can't! Can anyone guess what Peter's illness is? Poor little kid, I feel so bad for making him sick! Also the appearance of Hanatamago! Yeah! REVIEWS ARE THE ONLY THING THAT KEEP THE DOLPHINS AT BAY! (well, that and British food, but that would keep anything away!) **

**Authors Notes: **

-"If the Gods could have physical relations with men, then damned it why couldn't Tino!*"-**Of course many of the Gods were straight, but s****ome, very few, of the Norse Gods participated in homosexual acts, as well as becoming transgenderd such as when Loki turned into a female horse and was impregnated by a stallion to give birth to Odins horse Sleipnir. In Viking society, if you were a man and were gay, it was accepted as long as you had a good bought of offspring as well to take your place as your heir. Also, if you were to be the 'top' in the relationship, you would hold higher status than if you were on the bottom, as the bottom was most of the time seen as weak, or a whorish person. Haha Tino's a whore.**

-"The mighty Goddess's Freya and Sjofna had already seemed to bit him deeply with the poison known as love.*" **– In Norse Mythology, The Goddess's Freya and Sjofna both dealt with the affairs of love. **

**-"**The well of Urd had already seemed fit to drench Tino in its waters, leaving him cold, shivering and raw.*"- The 'Well of Urd" lies at the base of the mythical tree of Yggdrasill, the tree of the Gods. It is a mythical well that holds the waters of fate in Norse Pagan religion.

-"'Also... The _Damen Ulv_ wishes to watch the mock training with the company of the _Damen Lejon_, if the Lady Lion permits it...'"***- "Damen" means "Lady" in Swedish, "Ulv" means "wolf" in Norwegian. Haha Norway gets a sissy nickname too!**

-"Tino took a small mortar and pestle, a handful of the powdery crushed bark of the slippery Elm, a slab of honey, and a small drinking horn filled with freshly drawn spring water.*"**- Slippery Elm bark, when crushed into a fine powder provides a natural remedy against**** wounds, boils, ulcers, burns and reducing pain and inflammation. Consult your doctor guys before using it though!**

- "'I'm going to give you a bit of raspberry tea each morning for your tummy aches, okay? You have to promise to drink all of it up. It will make your belly feel much better and happier.'"***- Raspberry leaves, when used to make an herbal tea, can be used to cure or ease diarrhea.**


	5. The Illness Revealed

**Thank you so much for your reviews and support! Thank you to **MalinChan**, **yotzie** and **Ruusu**for being my Finnish/Swedish translators! If anyone out there speaks or writes Danish and would like to help me a bit with the Danish translations, it would be helpful! I've done my best to tone down the speed of the story, it was hard but hopefully it paid off! _NOTHING IN THIS FIC IS HISTORICALLY ACCURATE! REVIEW OR THE BRITISH DOLPHINS WILL EAT MEH! _**

_**(Sorry, there is A LOT of Mythological story telling in this chapter—I'm sorry for people who get annoyed by it! ^^"") **_

…...

After confessing to something that Tino desperately wished he could deny, the Finn wiped his eyes and smiled shamelessly at the small seven year old boy, his childlike crisp blue eyes shinning like deep blue pools of warmth. Warmth for Tino.

"Mamma, it's okay to cry, Pappa always says it's okay to cry..." Peter mumbled out, sitting up and wrapping is thin and sickly arms around Tino, gripping feverishly at his lithe body. The Finn sobbed softly, trying to mask it up as a laugh. He rubbed his eyes dully with the edge of his fingers and looked back to the boy who was gazing up at him with a worried and piteous expression.

"Does Pappa cry?" Tino asked, doing his best to smack a smile, real or fake, onto his quivering lips. Anything to keep the lull in the conversation from happening. He had just told his soon to be son something that he could barely convince himself of without breaking out into hysterics. He really was falling in love with the damn viking. There was no going back now, not when his heart was melting away at the cold iron chains of hate that he once held for the Swedes. His eyes were softening, breath withholding its bitterness, actions becoming more gentled. Was it some spell? Was Nikolas entrapping the Finn in unwanted and unfamiliar emotions just to ease his confusion and suffering? No, Nikolas knew better than to meddle with peoples minds against their permission. It was no spell, no casting of the runes, no candle magic.* It was Tino. He was changing, right before his wide and frighted eyes. Changing into what he didn't know. Was it for the better? The worst? Would it hurt? Would his emotions hold him so tight that he wouldn't be able to breathe? As much as Tino would hate to admit it, there was a piece of him, somewhere deep, embedded like an obsidian arrow into his body, that screamed and burned with the heated spark of love. It was spreading, surely, strongly throughout his body and he feared no medicine, no treatment, no amount of rest could make the damnable disease leave his troubled body.

Tino admitted it. He was more than positive it was love. How had it come so fast? He didn't dare answer. Why had it come? He didn't dare question it. Was it his own weakness, his own wanting, his own _need _to be loved that created it? Oh dear Gods he hoped not. It would be much more easy to swallow if Nikolas had weaved a magic spell over the Finn to make him feel this way. Berwald. He was in love with the big, giant, tall, impending man named Berwald. Tino laughter bitterly.

Peter looked up at Tino as the Finn made a resentful laugh. Tino, catching himself, drew a breath deep down into his throat and waited patiently for the British boys answer. Peter, setting his gaze down at the bedding, closed his eyes thoughtfully. His lips pouted into a thin line before his gaze flickered up to Tino's own beautiful amethyst colored eyes.

"I've never _seen_ Pappa cry, I've only heard him cry, real soft, like he was whispering somethin' to the sky..." Peter mumbled out, his breath in a harsh whisper as if he was telling the most cherished secret that he knew. Tino sniffed quietly, his cheeks already drying and becoming itchy and irritable on his snow white cheeks.

"When did you hear him cry?" Tino asked softly, curiously. The little Finn wrapped the British boy in a swath of blankets before setting the small child on his lap, Tino's warm arms encircling the boy in a tight hug, a motherly hug. It was okay to be close to Peter, he could let himself get swept up into the boys childish face and silly notions all he wanted.

Peter was innocent, harmless, like a small flicker of a match that could easily be controlled. He didn't have to lock his heart out for the small boy. But Berwald... Berwald was like a massive snarling bonfire, consuming everything in his path, wicked and humbling, deadly and dangerous. Or at least Tino thought. In any case he would have to guard himself against such a venomous and hungry flame. The man may be his future husband, but something told Tino that if the Finn didn't watch himself he would get burned. Badly.

The more alarming part for Tino was that he was half sure that he wouldn't _mind_ getting burned by such a magnificent flame... He wouldn't mind taming such a man, such an animal, such a barbarian. Of course Berwald looked like a ferocious lion, but that's not what Tino was sure was on the inside. Perhaps Berwald was as harmless as a small house cat, loving and sweet. Tino sighed out exhaustively.

Oh how he wanted to prove to himself above else that the man loved him back. That Tino's emotions weren't entirely for naught! That the Finn wasn't just grinding his heart against a mill stone, that all this trouble, confusion and grief would soon pay off. Then this tearing of his heart might become more bearable. But sadly he wasn't a mind reader. All he could say was that Berwald did seem to be truthful about his confession. How truthful? Tino wouldn't find out until the giant made the first move to prove himself. Even then that still might not calm down the Finn's heart.

Peter, all throughout the silence that entreated the hut, held his new Momma tightly, smashing his head against the Finn's breast, sniffing quietly. Tino noticed and stopped his madly racing mind, choosing to focus on the sick child.

Tino didn't know who was doing the comforting at this point, but it looked to be Peter judging by the way the young and frail boy would run his small fingers through Tino's hair, soothing him almost. Tino smiled at the touch. It reminded him of when he was young and Nikolas would pet his head lovingly to help him get to sleep. Oh how he missed those days.

Peter thought long and hard at the previous question, twisting his head up to glance along the walls of his fathers hut. He let out a raw sigh and wedged his face against Tino's neck, nuzzling it almost like the small little dog had done just this morning.

"Pappa always sleeps in here, that is, till you came Mamma, that's the first time he's ever slept in that bed since I got sick..." Peter whispered. Tino could hear the wheezing breath of the child as he cradled his body against his lap, the boys head snug against the Finnish man's collar bone.

Well. That certainly explained the dust in the Swede's hut. Tino sighed softly. No matter how he tried to disregard it, everything that he's heard or seen of the Swede had led Tino down one path. Berwald was a kind, gentle, thoughtful giant. The Swede must have been so worried about his sick son that he would sleep in the room right next to the child, probably cradling him in his sleep like a worried father wondering if his son would ever see the warm sunshine again.

"Pappa would come in after training or looking over a bunch of old boring maps with uncle Mathias. Sometimes he'd be hurt or bruised from fighting all day, but he still always came to tuck me in at night. He would always pull his cot closer to my bed even though the wet nurses would scold at him and tell him not to." Peter giggled, nudging his head closer against Tino's chest till the little boy could hear his Momma's heart beat like the wild thumping of a doves wings fluttering harshly and ragged, tired and worn.

Tino laughed smoothly as well, the image of some elderly women scolding the giant bear of man was just too humorous to pass up. But, as if placing himself in check, Tino let the laughter die in his throat softly as he placed his head above Peter's own sandy mop of hair. Tino could feel the boy's eyelashes flutter against Tino's smooth collar bone, the blonde eyelashes tickling like little butterfly's wings.

"Late at night, when even the torch lights are covered and I can see their smoke drift over the hut, I can hear Pappa crying softly. I don't think he knows I hear him, because I always close my eyes real tight and roll over on my belly, pretending to be asleep. But I hear him alright. He's always muttering something, something in Pappa's funny language..." Peter scrunched up his nose, trying his best to remember the phrase that had escaped his mind.

Tino was listening intently, his eyes wide, mouth parted. The savage, ferocious, barbarous and blood thirsty leader of the Northers Lions Tribe cried every night in the safety of his son's medical hut? Tino blinked and felt something pool into his stomach, something thick and weighty, as if he had swallowed a big drought of swamp water. It churned in his stomach and made Tino feel slightly ill, sightly hurt, slightly sorrowful, and slightly guilty. The Finn cleared his throat and squeezed his eyes tight, clutching Peter to himself with all his might.

He shouldn't be listening to this, he shouldn't be hearing something so private, so detached from his made up thoughts of the man that he believed was terrifying, harsh, cruel and arrogant. He wished Berwald _was_ vicious, inhumane and deceitful. He wished it with all his heart because then it wouldn't be so painful to refuse Berwald's love.

He had thought Berwald was like an unrestrained lion that seemed to roar and growl out viciously as his sole purpose. But Tino had, unbeknownst to even himself, been studying the older male, had learned things that could not be unlearned. Berwald was not some selfish and monstrous beast. He was kind, selfless, loving... Tino had learned things that wounded his heart more than ever. He had learned from the little lion cub himself, that the proud and destructive lion cried himself to sleep every night with a prayer.

It hurt Tino, physically and mentally. He was torn in half. The cruel stories of his childhood told as nightmares soiled and fogged his mind, but also the sweet sheepish words and gestures of the Swede, the love confessions and the kiss, they all feverishly captivated him and scorched through him as if a lit arrow had pieced his body.

He also couldn't deny the fact that Berwald was already beginning to prove himself pure at heart. Whether it was not taking advantage of him last night, saying that he had always loved him and would continue to love him, or damnit! Even when the damn beast of a man had ruffled his hair not but an hour ago, making Tino sputter and blush like a virgin maiden on Midsummer night!

It wasn't fair! The Swede had all the power, all the captivation, all the enchantment. Tino was left raw, confused, and mangled all by the power of the man that he was growing to love. What did Berwald feel? Tino wasn't even sure. He wished Berwald was going through the same torment, the same confusion and naked feeling that left Tino's heart unbearably unhinged. Tino was a peace offering for Odins sake.* He only wished that he could keep remembering that, it might help to keep his emotions in check.

Peter, noticing with quite stillness how his Momma's breath had sped up, twitched his nose, his mind suddenly remembering something.

"Ah! That's right! Pappa was saying something like a prayer to someone, some lady named 'Eir'... he kept asking her to help with something..." Peter muttered, his breath still a strained whisper, his eyes closed tiredly. Tino's eyes flew open, blinking wildly, his shoulders stiff.

Peter was right. Berwald had been praying, to the Goddess Eir, handmaiden to Frigg who was the sole healer for the Gods themselves. Tino had often heard Nikolas explain to Tino that the Goddess Eir only told her healing secrets to women who prayed and who practiced diligently, so he and Tino would have to pray and practice extra hard since they were males and would not as easily be heard by the Goddess.* Tino let a sigh slide across his breath. Berwald _was_ really worried about Peter, to be crying and begging to a healing Goddess who only heard the plea of women in the art of medicine.

Tino softly combed through Peter's hair, mulling over this new information in his already cluttered mind. Berwald was desperate, wasn't he? _Well of course._ Tino thought with mild sourness. That's why he was here in the first place!

Tino sighed and drew his hands against the small child's shoulders, feeling Peter sag and unfurl his weak grip on Tino's tunic. Tino smiled back at the closed eyed boy, his freckles plastered loosely across his innocent face, his bushy eye brows relaxed against his forehead. The boy made no move to stir or wake up, his breathing smooth and heavy. Peter had fallen asleep.

Tino tucked the small boy up into the mass of colorful and cheerfully dyed blankets, making sure the boy had a jug of water and a drinking horn at his side. Tino sat up from the bed, the hay stuffed mattress making thin rustling noise into the quiet air of the tent. Tino allowed himself to brush away a few strands of hair from the boys sweet face, kissing the child's brow softly, like a mother to her child. That's what he was. This was his little baby boy. No one, not even the Gods could take that one sure joy away from the Finn.

…...

After softly untying a few of the leather straps from the hut flaps that were the entry way to the medical tent, Tino shook the deer hide skins open, to let in a bit more fresh air. As soon as he was done with that simple task he turned around and stared out into the busy village sprawled out in front of him.

The village was nestled deep into a brushed off meadow of green that edged against the tall pines and ash trees. A few clumps of willows and aspens decorated and stood proudly against the forest border, the green leaves shimmering against the blue and white clouded sky.

If Tino strained his ears he could hear the definite roaring of a river that cut around just through the north of the huts, the thick saw grass hiding some sort of shallow pond or thick swamp.

Spread out like small mounds of dull baked earth stood the pointed and rectangular huts of the villagers. About twenty in all, they all stood squished together, each one with a lit or smoldering fire pit set near the mouth of the tent. Some of the huts had a pine bough built pen that connected fairly close to the edge of the forest. Small herds of sheep, thick with wool that was slightly gray, a few horned goats, and some old milk cows were lazily chewing on the meadows sweet grass.

Tino brought his hand to his brow and, squinting slightly, he could see that further east, sat a sturdy and wide built corral that was roughly shaped into a long and sloping rectangle. A few paddocks were flushed up against the corral made from the valleys scraggly wood. Short and fattened ponies that were already packed with saddle and fitted with bridle waited patiently in the warming summer sun as a few soldiers fussed over their cinch straps or bits.

A few of the young Swedish and Danish warriors had already broke into a disordered line into the main corral and were shouting out battle cry's, wielding long spears, or dulled axe blades. Tino watched for a moment as the two sides, each five men strong fought in a mock battle, the dulled weapons smashing into each other, colorfully painted shields catching onto metaled edges, feet skidding against the dirt laden arena, mouths biting out grunts of pain.

Tino watched it all with sudden fascination, his breath dry in his throat, his eyes wide.

Most of the men, the ones fighting with a majority of axes, had little stubble's of red ribbon tied to their shoulder armor, the ribbons fluttering with each planned movement, each swing of the heavy and thickened waned blade. The other side, clad with jutting spears and swirling shields had ribbons dyed golden that whip lashed in the wind, their own weapons advancing with sure speed onto the red ribbon men.

Tino watched with bated breath as the first row of men from each side met with each other, three against three. The first man, a tall and long blonde haired male with a spear, tucked the heavy point of the lance into one of the axe wielding mans arms with a harsh jab, sending the red ribbon warrior grunting with pain into the floor, his shield thrown to the ground, skidding and spinning out of arms reach.

The next two men on the red group yelled something harshly and they both threw their axes forward to avenge their fallen comrade, the blunt of the head of the metal slicing off a chunk of the blonde mans shield, knocking him downward, gasping for air.

Tino winced as the next group of men advanced and fought, the sounds of wood hitting wood, metal scraping against metal, it made Tino cringe. How could these men fight like this? How could they madly charge at one another with the intention of death?

"Tino, I would have never guessed you'd be the kind of person to like watching carnage..." Said a dull yet slightly amused voice from behind the Finn. Tino jumped and made a sharp squeak, his head whirling around with speed to see Nikolas smiling knowingly at him, his navy blue eyes still as vapid as ever.

"I-I do not!" He shouted with protest, his voice slightly wavering.

Nikolas sighed and looked back to the fighting men a ways off. The battle already seemed to be over as all ten men lay groaning on the floor, their shields broken or scattered from their hands, weapons dug painfully into the dirt. Tino made an ugly sound in his throat.

"Doesn't that hurt?" he cried out, shielding his eyes as one of the men outside the corral had to help carry a limping man from under the fence posts, his ankle undoubtedly bruised or even broken, blood trailing behind him like a puddle of fallen rain. Nikolas laughed slightly.

"Of course it does, but they still do it." He answered flatly, leading Tino away from the scene like a mother hurrying her whining child along.

"But why?" Tino barked with disgust, leering over at the men that were growing to be more like barbarians than he thought. Most of them seemed to have thick and heavy beards of red or gold twisting down their chins. Their eyes were frozen blue pools and their mouths were all pushed into snarls like trapped animals awaiting the butchers knives. It frightened Tino and made his stomach churn painfully like a twist of a leather knot was wedged into his gut.

"We're in a war camp, or have you forgotten that? Everyone here is dedicated to the battle. All the men do here is train and fight, fight and train..." Nikolas muttered under his breath with boredom, directing his gaze towards the corral that was housing the new row of opponents.

"Of course they do. They're barbarians." Tino growled out bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest. Nikolas chuckled low in his throat. He clasped Tino's hands in his and began guiding him down a reddish dirt path, markings of ponies hooves trampled against the body of the earth with little crescent shapes.

"Those _Barbarians_ are the protectors of men, women and children here. They are the best of the Swedish and Danish tribes fighters. Every day they must participate in mock battles to hone their strength and skills lest they lose their great fighting abilities on the battle field." Nikolas said seriously. He looked to Tino with weighty, sober tarnished eyes. Tino snapped his gaze away from his cousin guiltily.

"I'm sorry, I spoke without thinking..."Tino whispered out beneath his breath. Nikolas nodded.

"That you did. Those men down there are also protecting _you_. They put _their_ lives on the line to keep this village safe. Without them, we would all be speaking Russian." Nikolas murmured sourly. Tino hung his head low and nodded.

Nikolas sighed out into the warm and sweet smelling air, the cooking fires were already being stuffed and fattened with the sweet wood of ceder and willow. An old woman with a clay jug of flowers in her arms walked past the two males before smiling sweetly and bowing with a low dip of her head towards Tino and Nikolas. Nikolas smiled to the woman and bent his head downward as well in a humble greeting. The woman covered her smile with her mouth sheepishly before handing Nikolas and Tino each a sprig of pretty blue lupine, the crescent buds wafting a sweet smell. Tino blinked back with surprise, still not used to such hospitality. He was a complete stranger after all, bride or not.

Nikolas bowed in thanks again to the woman, pinching Tino's wrist, making the Finn awaken from his surprised stupor. Tino immediately ducked his head down, trying his best to imitate the gracefulness of the Norwegian. The woman chuckled modestly before grinning brightly at the two boys, walking back down the path.

"What was that?" Tino asked with a whispered hiss, looking at the small and delicate flower in his hands. Nikolas chuckled suddenly, his eyes for once showing a real emotion. Joy.

"That my cousin, was a sweet old lady _barbarian_ welcoming you to the tribe." Nikolas smirked. Tino's mouth snapped open, his eyes feeling a bit guilty.

"Is it because I'm the bride of their leader?" Tino whispered out softly, gazing down at the flower that was pressed lightly between his fingers. Nikolas sighed and twirled the flower between his thumb and index finger.

"Partly, yes. We are the brides of two of the most powerful tribe leaders in all of Scandinavia. That grants us with great and devoted respect, therefore the people always show appreciation to the wives of such important leaders..." Tino fidgeted at the 'wives part' but allowed Nikolas to continue.

"The first time I arrived at Mathias's tribe, as soon as I got off the boat I was showered with handfuls of flowers, gifts of beautiful and stunning jewels, rich and fine bolts of clothing. But I didn't take any of it. I was too scared and frighted to. But, the people saw that. Within the first week they did their best to make me feel at home. The camp cooks made me Norwegian dishes such as _Toscakake,_ the bards sang Norwegian folk songs, even the people themselves did their very best to greet me kindly in the Norwegian language.* They really cared for my well being because they loved me as much as they loved their leader, without even knowing one single thing about me! Tino..." Nikolas looked as his cousin who held the flower tightly in his fingers, twisting it slightly, his eyes shut tight, a small tear slipping down his cheeks. Nikolas sighed and hugged his cousins around his shoulders.

"Tino, these are your people now. They are your responsibility as well as Berwald's. You must protect them and be a fair leader to them. In the days to come, when the battles heat up and more men are needed to the war front, you must become their calmness, their hope. Berwald is this tribes strength. But _you_ are this tribes love." Nikolas said steadily, his words forming a huge solid weight in Tino's gut. Tino wiped his shameless tears before nodding. This was the price for being a vikings wife. So far Tino had suffered fear, anger, sadness, guilt, and love. But now, with the realization that he was someone important, someone that could inspire, that could show kindness, that could show leadership as Nikolas had. He wanted that. He was tired of being afraid, tired of being distrustful. The Gods did every thing for a reason, perhaps this was his reason.

He flickered his watery gaze out toward the villages huts, the makeshift tan hides fluttering in the the wonderful summer wind. Chickens clucked and scratched at the days meal, ponies grunted and whinnied and dogs barked and herded frolics of sheep. All around him were strange and new faces. But what they all had in common, was a smile in their eyes.

These people had undoubtedly seen death, destruction and oppression at the hands of their enemies, yet they still smiled and still spoke kind words as if it was natural to them. As soon as Tino had kicked away from Berwald, shouted at him, scorned him in front of his own people, they still forgave Tino. They could have thrown garbage at him, shunned him, or sneered at him with hate. But they hadn't. They had understood his fear, his alienation, and they were doing everything to cure it with just a kind word. It left Tino amazed.

He looked over the slopping hills that sprouted green and felt the fresh grass grow underneath his boots, he saw the high mountains that wrapped around him, still coupled with snow, he smelled the sweet haze of the cooking fires, he tasted the native vegetables and herbs that grew in this wild land, feeling it on his tongue, he heard the bawl of an ewe as she led her little babe to suckle. He felt, saw, smelled, tasted, and heard it all. All of it. It was his. It was a part of him, something that took root into his heart, unhinging one of the chains, twisting the lock through the key with a frighting yet satisfying _click_.

This land that terrified him so, that made him cry out and weep like a small babe. It was his. He was joined by it, not by blood, not by want, not even by marriage. It was simply his because he felt it. He felt it deep inside. It was another breakage of his heart that left him winded, gasping for air, raw and naked. This land could teach him happiness, this land could teach him understanding, this land could teach him to love

Love. Love the leader of the land, the lion himself that ruled over this domain. It would take time and patience, but he could do it, he had done it. He admitted it to himself already. He was in love. He knew now that it was love because his chest hurt so much with sweetened pain and his cheeks stung red every time the giant of a man showed his presence. All he had to do now was figure out what to do with it. He didn't want to reveal his feelings and he sure as Hel didn't want to express them.* For now the last link in the chain embracing his heart would stay in place. Only Berwald himself would be able to make it break...

…...

Nikolas had led a misty eyed Tino into the grand surroundings of the Norwegians hut that he shared with Mathias, letting Tino's eyes softly wander along the contents of the tent.

A huge tacked up blanket, acting as a woven tapestry was pinned with bone clips into the wall above a large bed. The tapestry was colored with natural earthy toned pigmented dyes, portraying a scene of a grinning black wolf gazing at the whiteness of the moon, next to him sat another wolf with a dulled, more softer gaze, but still proud none the less.

"That tapestry, it's so..." Tino murmured, his mouth slightly agape, trying to find the right words.

Nikolas, who was busy laying the wicker basket in his arms, slowly turned to what Tino was looking at with great curiosity.

"Oh. That. Mathias had it made when I agreed to marry him, the great fool. It's supposed to be him and me overlooking the moon as wolves. I think it just looks like a horny mutt and a pissed off dog..." Nikolas grumbled through strained teeth.

Tino frowned before looking back at the tapestry. The big black wolf sure was grinning like Mathias, and the dulled and tarnished look in the other wolf was similar to Nikolas's... Tino brought his hands to his lips and stifled a small laugh, the tapestry beginning to look horrendously stupid now.

"Keep laughing like that and I'll tell Berwald to make one of you and him as fuzzy maned lions..." Nikolas growled out impatiently. Tino snapped his eyes wide before shutting up, his puckered mouth still betraying the inklings of his previous laughter.

"You wouldn't..." Tino mumbled out. There was no way he wanted something that gaudy and silly hanging above his bed, even if he had to share the bed with the Swedish viking.

"Try me..." Nikolas stated flatly, his eyes sparkling with laughter. Tino scoffed with fake disdain, walking over to the Norwegian. He took a deep breath and smiled at his cousin.

The next thing that caught the Finn's eye was the red blanketed bed. It was shoved up flush against the leather walls that faced the tarp openings, sitting proud and heavy, with an attitude of it's own. The bed was huge. It almost took over half of the entire rectangular room, the rest of the furniture, a wooden trunk that Tino recognized as Nikolas's book chest, a low set white pine wood table that was crammed and jostled with little bottles of herbs and liquids, a wooden rocking chair made from wicker, and a small babies crib that housed the sweetly slumbering Björt.

Tino walked over to the babe and smiled, stroking the child's cheeks softly.

"Mathias does not mind Björt sleeping in your tent?" Tino asked, somewhat resentfully. Nikolas sighed warningly before tying a string to the handle of a slightly dulled knife, tying the string to his belt and tucking the knife into a small little leather pouch at his sides.

"No, Mathias does not mind. He has taken a liking to the little boy, as if he was Björt's father..." Nikolas spoke with nuetrality, uncapping a small vial that Tino recognized as clove oil. Nikolas brought it to his nose before sniffing it. He nodded and sealed the wax and cork cap back on, tucking it into the leather pouch.

Tino turned back to the bed and noticed with heated curiousity that it was very messy, with hay sticking out from under the bedding, the fodder filled pillows having been knocked to the floor haphazardly. The blankets were a deep blood red crimson, scruffs of sheep skins lazily peeking out from the blankets in a frothy mass. Tino walked around the edges of the big wooden posted bed, carvings of snapping wolves decorating the spirals of wood, making frightening motifs in the tarnished pine.

Near the right of the bed, where the bedding was flattened the most, laid the crisp folds of Nikolas's tunic that he had worn yesterday, along with his breeches and boots, chemise and stockings. Tino raised his brow quizzically before he circled the edge of the left side of the bed. He was met with the same sight, only this time it was Mathias's brick red tunic that was practically ripped at the seems and laying helplessly almost under the bed. Tino lifted up the musty smelling corners of the blankets to press his cheeks to the floor looking underneath the bed. Sure enough, laid the boots and stockings of the huge Dane, his breeches draped across the backings of a chair closest to the medical table. Tino's eyes widened with realization.

"Nikolas!" The Finn breathed out in a scolding manner, his eyes disapprovingly wide and shocked.

Nikolas looked up at the mention of his name, his face blank, bored even.

"What?" He asked out slowly, his hands in the middle of laying an empty water jug into a blue cloth lined basket. Tino's face grew even more red. He jutted his arm over to the messy sheets and upturns of hay on the bedding, his eyes cautionary.

"Did you sleep naked in a bed with Mathias?" Tino hissed out with conviction, his eyes bright and shallow with disbelief.

Nikolas's features never changed, instead he walked over to the small little boat like crib of the sleeping Icelander and lightly heaved the babe up and into his arms, the child's blanket catching on his curled little hands, his eyes blinking open.

"Sleepy..." the small little child mumbled with tiredness. Nikolas smiled sweetly before cooing to his baby brother, his voice slow and kind, as gentle as the wind on a spring morning.

"Nikolas... Answer me!" Tino growled with heated embarrassment, mindful to keep his voice down in the presence of the sleepy-eyed child.

Nikolas blinked lazily, shouldering the babe in his arms, the child wriggling around, yawning and making small garbled sounds that were half words half gibberish.

"Yes. I slept naked with Mathias last night, just like you slept naked last night with _your_ husband." Nikolas said with some stubbornness. The Norwegian heaved up his younger brother on his lap before sitting down on the messy bed. His pale fingers reached over on a low set chest, flipping the heavy cover on the wooden box slowly, pulling out a small blue and red child's tunic with small little yellow dandelion patterns stitched on the sleeves of the tunic.

Tino, his eyes astonished, face an angry red, stamped his foot on the dirt and hay covered floor. Nikolas sighed out with mocking, placing the tunic over and on his brothers small frame, the child grinning and blowing a bubble with his nose.

"Only because someone didn't bother to _tell_ me! I would have never slept in the same bed as that man naked!" Tino breathed out bitterly, his hands on his girlish hips, his teeth gritting together.

Nikolas bit off a small laugh. "You say that, yet you did not correct me in calling him your husband." He pointed out, his arms heaving up a giggling and dressed Björt. Nikolas sat up and held the bouncing child on his hip.

Tino, stunned and shocked, stuttered a defense in his speech, his eye brows furrowed, breath fidgeting in his throat.

"You-You tricked me!" He scoffed with wavering breath, his face freckling with sparks of red and pink, like a wild rose. Nikolas only laughed and walked over to Tino, patting him on the shoulder.

"Admit it, you are beginning to open your heart, you are accepting your fate, your path." Nikolas murmured softly with hesitant, caring breath. Tino scrunched up his face and looked at the floor, his eyes growing irritable.

"Yes. I suppose I am. But I have not completely embraced my fate, not yet at least." Tino mumbled out sourly, quietly, crossing his arms over his chest. Nikolas merely sighed with a gentle smile on his lips.

"Don't worry. Right now it may feel like you are losing a part of yourself, that you no longer have control over your actions and emotions. But do not fret, it will change. You will work past all the heart ache and worry now, soon it will get better. Do not kill the love in your heart like a weed, let it grow and flourish like a rose." Nikolas breathed out with a mild whisper, running his thumbs over Tino's soft cheeks. He looked into his cousins eyes and gave an honest to goodness smile from the heart. It made Tino's body wrack with a small sob.

"It's so glad to finally be able to talk to you again Nikolas. You don't know how lonely it's been all by myself in that cramped cottage... I've really missed you..." Tino mumbled out thickly, his breath catching in his throat. Nikolas closed his eyes softly in agreement before he grabbed Tino into a tight and warm hug.

"You are not alone anymore cousin. You have many kind people looking out for you with love, I am only one of them." Nikolas murmured into Tino's hair, the Finn collapsing his weight against the Norwegians body, his eyes stinging. Tino knew what his wise cousin meant. He wasn't alone. He had an entire village supporting him, he had a man that had told him he loved him...Tino did his best to fight back the tears that threatened to fall from his violet eyes. After a few staggering breathes the Finn finally succeeded and, reluctantly, pulled away from his cousin, his eyes watering slightly.

"I'm sorry. It seems that all that I've done here is scream and cry like a child." Tino whispered into Nikolas's shoulder. Nikolas sucked in a bit gulp of air, steadying himself.

"You have reason to cry. This is so abrupt and so frightening. I'm sorry I put you through it but I couldn't risk your life, now I feel like I'm risking your sanity." Nikolas trailed off with detached breath, his eyes lowering, his hands relaxing their hold on the Finn.

Tino lightly pushed himself away from his cousin's hug and wiped at his eyes. He didn't want Nikolas to feel guilty, to be to blame. Tino was strong, he could get through this.

"Its okay, I'm glad you brought me here, really I am. I would have never gotten to hear your monotone disapproving voice again." Tino mumbled out with the inklings of laughter, trying to change the subject to something more happy, more uplifting.

Nikolas scoffed with pretend scorn, placing his hands to his chest in a revolting manner.

"Well! Never have I been so insulted!" He chuckled with good nature. Tino grinned and tugged at his cousins hands.

"A soldier came in this morning and told me that the _Damen Ulv_ wished for my company to sift through herbs. I would be honored if the bride of the Danes would accompany me to the forest..." Tino bowed low to the ground and extended his hands outward, as if holding them out to a fair princess. Nikolas laughed quietly before taking Tino's hand, curtsying with his robes and tunics like a noble woman.

"As you wish, bride of the Swede's." Nikolas said with laughter, picking up Bj_ö_rt with his free hand and taking Tino's outstretched fingers with his other. Tino frowned nervously, if not a bit embarrassingly before hiking up Nikolas's basket in his arms and swinging it against his legs, leading his cousin out of the hut and into the warm summer morning.

...

As soon as Tino led his cousin out from the confines of his hut, his eyes were bombarded with the bright and happy faces of a throng of villagers.

Stout ones, tall ones, Danish ones, Swedish ones, males and women, children and elderly people with canes and rickety backs all grinned brightly at Tino as if he was one of the prettiest and most fascinating things that they had ever seen.

Thankfully Nikolas was sober enough from their previous giggles to welcome the people and put himself in front of the blinking and nervous Finn, as if to take the lead in case Tino did something foolish or stupid. Which Tino was more than certain he would have if he let his nervousness get to him. Usually the Finn was wonderful with crowds, but apparently not when just a day ago they had been your enemy. Oh how things had changed.

Nikolas smiled and bowed at the group that had came to amass themselves outside of his hut. People nodded fiercely, men taking off their leathery hats and women clutching their flaxen skirts to their hips in a curtsey. Tino, once he regained his bearings, followed suit, giving a small nervous smile to the people. His people. Oh how that word made his heart race.

A few old women, shawls on their backs with spun white hair flowing down their shoulders, nudged through the crowd to grin towards Tino. Their leathery tanned hands dipped into a basket that was cradled against each of their hips, the smell of pungent earth and the crackling of dried herbs wafting all around them. Tino watched curiously as the first woman stood a foot away from the Finn. She grinned, the wrinkles against her cheeks telling just how old she was, just how much of this world that she had seen. It showed in her bright jade green eyes.

She held a single sprig of Aster, the purplish violet flower glinting softly in the sunlight. Before the Finn could smile and thank the woman, she slid her thin fingers through Tino's hair, pulling back a frock of his dove soft hair. She languidly slid the flower against his ear till it was nestled into his locks. The old woman then pulled back and smiled joyfully, her green eyes singing.

Tino, bewildered, looked to Nikolas who was smiling gently, accepting a small daisy given to him by a little Danish girl. He patted the small braided girls head with his pale hands, sending her on her way with a smile.

"This elder is one of the tribes wise women, she gives you the flower of the violet Aster that matches your eyes to help open your sight with love."* Nikolas explained, placing a the small daisy behind his ears as well.

Tino swallowed thickly before touching the velvety smooth petals of the flower, watching as the old wise woman bowed and made room for the next woman, a taller, but still just as ancient female with long and wispy white hair tied loosely into a knot with some sinew string. This woman reached into a heavy basket and pulled out a fat and blood red beet that was as big as Tino's two fists! The old woman dusted the heavy vegetable off before she nudged the cool flesh of the beet against Tino's heart, her smile never waning. Tino clutched at the beet awkwardly with the crook of his elbow the woman still pressing it against his clothed and flesh covered heart.

"The beet is ruled by love and helps to make wishes come true.* She presses the red flesh of the beet against your heart to unlock your deepest wish..." Nikolas mumbled out, his eyes steady and informative, if not glowing slightly.

Tino swallowed thickly before accepting the purplish vegetable, placing it lightly into Nikolas's basket, the Finn's eyes thankful and a bit astonished. The woman made a gesture with her hand, placing her fingers to her lips and back again. Tino realized that she was instructing him to eat the vegetable.

Nikolas smirked as Tino, eyes wavering and teeth clenched, smiled back at the woman and took the beet into his cupped hands, nibbling at the dusty flesh of it as the juices painted his lips a pretty pink. The woman laughed, not cruelly, but sweetly, amused and delighted. She took the huge plant from Tino's hands and let him wipe his lips, his eyes letting down their standoffish haze, becoming more clearer, more himself.

To Tino's amazement, one more elderly woman hunched over to Tino, her spine bent from old age and wear. The women muddled her hands through her little _hangerock_ aprons to produce the scraggly stem of a plant.* Tino recognized them as a curled dried stem of a stalk of Bedstraw and a smoky colored root of Black cohosh.* The woman, weighted with robes the color of gray charcoal, kissed each of the plants that she was holding out to Tino with reverence. The woman, a stern look that reminded Tino of Berwald, stared deeply at the Finn. But her eyes were an icy blue like the bottom of a frozen lake. Definitely not like Berwalds. Berwalds were more of an icy sea green, when the icebergs melt into the ocean, making it rise and swirl. Tino paused. The fact that he could differentiate the mans eye color against other people's somewhat frightened the little Finn. He sighed out tiredly before turning his attention back to the woman.

The old lady with the icy eyes bent down to the ground, her knees creaking as her bones popped from her sickly weight. Tino made a move to help her up, but Nikolas sent him a cautionary gaze with his eyes that practically screamed 'Don't touch unless she touches you first'. Tino swallowed, his pulse deep in his throat. He combed his eyes over the woman cautiously before standing up strait and solid, or as solid as one can be when they only weigh a hundred and thirty pounds.

With one quick movement the woman with the piercing cold eyes un-tucked Tino's trousers from his boots, making the Finn roll back his footing with surprise. The woman glared at him, her hands tightening around his ankle.

"Let her do it." Nikolas murmured with an almost dead voice, his eyes as blank as a jungle cat. Wise and haunting.

So, Tino, figuring Nikolas knew best, stood still and watched as the woman stuck the long stalk of Bedstraw down his boots, making the scratchy plant rub up against his bare feet. He bit his lip but stifled the nervous ticklish laugh that was rising to his throat ever steadily.

The woman, with much struggle, stood her self upright again and dusted off her dark colored dress, the woolen fabric much too hot and stifling for the heat that was already stinging the warm Swedish air. The woman's glare had softened incredibly, only a thin line of doubt was creased into her forehead.

Tino turned to Nikolas for an explanation, watching out of the corner of his eye that the woman was grimacing and looked a tad annoyed.

She took out a sinew string from the pouch at her belt and wrapped it tight around the charcoal root of the Black cohosh. She wrapped the thin brown cord around the root before tying it tight, biting off the edges of the makeshift necklace before gripping Tino's hips rather tightly. The Finn stumbled as the woman tied the string and plant against Tino's supple hips, the tunic fabric pulling down slightly from the weight of the root. She ran her hands slowly around the Finn's thighs and hips in an almost memorized fashion before her hands cupped his elbow and the length of his arms. Though it was purely fascination, nothing sexual at all. Tino thanked the Gods for that.

She tugged on the sinew twine twice, making sure it would stay before she stepped back to admire her work with a satisfied smug smile only meant for her.

Then, with the quick and calming popping dialogue that was the Swedish language, she spoke rapidly to Nikolas who was having a troublesome time trying to translate her speech. But Tino heard one word that made his heart stop and his face grow flush with a healthy shade of red.

"She mentioned Berwald..." Tino whispered out to no one in particular. The woman's gaze shot outward to Tino, her eyes widening, surprised almost. She licked her lips as if she was tasting something thick and bitter, her mouth puckering. She was upset, but not outraged or viscous. More along the lines of disapproval

Nikolas sighed and turned slowly, as if the movement pained him or gnawed at him dully.

"She wonders why Berwald would take a scrawny lad to his bed when he could have any of the voluptuous women in the village. But now she understands. You have a certain energy, a certain pleasant aura that leaks out like cane sugar or honey. She says you have the power to bend their leader in half, to break him. But you won't. Instead you will sacrifice yourself and bow as equals. You will bend like the willow..." Nikolas's voice was hushed, whispered into a fine lull that swam around Tino's head like a lazy river currant. The Finn breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, his eyes glazing over.

"She gives you Bedstraw so that wherever you walk you may find love on your path. She gives you Black cohosh for courage and potency in the arts of romance..." Nikolas bit out, his eyes dull and glassy, like a bottle filled with murky water. The woman shifted her gaze to Tino. Her eyes didn't have such a hard edge around them, but they were still serious, still a bit judgmental.

Tino could barely find his breath let alone enough strength and will power to come up with a damn response. The woman's words had scared him. She was serious. If Berwald loved Tino like the Finn hoped he did, then Tino would have the giants heart in his hands. He could literally control Berwald's every movement with the turn and changes of his emotions. He _could _break Berwald. But Tino knew he could not bring himself to crush Berwald's heart. For if Tino took that plunge, ignored all his emotions and threw the mans love to the floor in a splattered mass, it would undoubtedly injure Tino more than Berwald, leaving the Finn empty and broken.

His one chance at love gone.

No, Tino would have to bend like the willow branch. Become equals with Berwald, only then could he feel comfortable to let his love flourish. Tino sighed out, his breath feeling more alive in his throat than it had ever felt. This land was changing him. Or maybe it was the lands leader. Either way it was frighting. Tino shivered.

Nikolas, feeling that Tino maybe had enough of the restless natives, quickly tugged at the Finn's elbow and pulled him close to the Norwegian, his eyes glassy, filled with a certain warmth that Tino didn't know his cousin's eyes could hold.

"I think we should go to the hills for a bit, let things cool down between _your_ people..." Nikolas whispered with the faintest flicker of amusement. Tino made a sour scowl appear on his lips before playfully nudging his cousin in the ribs.

Nikolas sighed out warmly before clutching the small Icelandic babe tighter to his chest. He looked around the crowds with as much lovingness and as embraceable as a warm cooking hearth filled with coals. He made a sweeping movement with his hands held high in the air that it almost looked as if water was filled into the wrists of the delicate Norwegian, his movements so fluid.

He brought his hand down and, directing Tino to do the same, they bowed, eyes closed, shoulders hunched, legs straight. Yes, he must bend, just like the willow, just like this. Tino smirked. This wouldn't so bad... He was pretty sure he wouldn't be giving up a whole chunk of his freedom, just a few trimmings. He may be considered a bride and a peace offering, but he was a healer first—work was first priority—then he'd allow himself to get muddled in with the _really_ complicated issues. Tino sighed. At least he knew that the Swede's were hospitable and very accepting. Of course, taking into consideration...

The wise women of the village had practically flung magical herbs at his face in hopes to enchant him with love. Were they really that desperate to keep him here, to heal their Tribe leaders son Would they really go to such lengths to nail Tino's feet to the ground, to meddle with the divine in hopes that Tino would magically fall in love their their handsome—Barbarian- leader? Or was it something more than that? Something more, desperate? Tino chewed his bottom lip.

The woman with the icy stare, she had said something that was starting to gnaw and bite into the Finn's heart like a rose thorn. She said that she couldn't understand why Berwald had chose a scrawny little boy like him. She wondered why he hadn't instead chosen from one of the more 'voluptuous' women of the village. Tino growled out under his breath as he came back up from his bow, Nikolas lightly placing his hands next to his, not on top, not on bottom, but right in the middle. Tino lifted up a curious gaze to his cousin.

Nikolas sighed out tiredly but nudged his head closer to Tino's, the young Finn keeping an eye on his clumsy feet as they walked through the sudden thick walls of people that had come to bow and pay their respects. Some muttered a 'feelin' b'tter?' or a 'don't be fr'ghtnend deary!' which quietly stuttered Tino awake, his slightly nervous voice muttering out a stuttered, 'yes' or 'thank you'. This was still so strange and new—Tino only hoped it wouldn't become any more foreign or alien to him. Anything more and he didn't think his little Finnish heart could take it.

"Why the hands?" Tino asked suddenly, remembering that his fingers ere lightly dancing over Nikolas's, the Norwegians hands as high as his shoulder. Tino's arm was starting to get tired and he desperately wanted to put his hands down at his sides. Nikolas's quiet smile never waned as he kept his eyes on shifting and slithering in between the crowd, making his way up north near the sounds of a river or swamp could be heard.

"To show that we are equals. Remember, tensions are still strained between the Wolves and the Lions. If I exert any form of dominance over you, even though I am your elder cousin, it could attract unwanted attention that could lead to both our husbands undoing. The Danes and the Swede's are on shaky ground Tino—It is only walking on dead Russian soldiers that their footing is sure and their hands clasped around each other like brothers." Nikolas spoke out with a thin lace of bitterness.

"You don't like the fact that they can't get along, that they must split a Russian's skull open to find kindness for each other?" Tino whispered, making sure no one had heard him. He knew not all Russian's were bad, much like all Swedish weren't bad, much like all Danish weren't bad—well...

Tino sighed. He did not think stirring up trouble in a war camp of strangers was the best way to stay well-liked...Or even alive.

Nikolas frowned, hiking up a drowsy Bj_ö_rt in his arms, cradling the child to his collar bone.

"I do not abhor wars. I am of Norwegian blood. My father fought many a times in village wars and disputes, fighting is in my blood..." Nikolas muttered with a slow intake of breath.

"Uncle was a noble man, he died for noble causes..." Tino mumbled out weakly, trying to make his cousin feel better. Nikolas shook his head.

"Tino, there may be a noble way to die, but there is no noble way to kill..." He blinked slowly, tiredly. Nikolas shook his head softly just as they were about to round the final road block—not a mass of smiling villagers eager to please—but a whole cut row of about six soldiers, four Swedish and two Danish. The men looked up from their idle chatting, most of them leaning on a low set wagon that had a cart full of golden hay for the animals bedding should the weather turn nasty. They all looked rough, most of them with beards or a bit of scruff, tunic dirty or scraggly due to the extensive training just this morning.

Tino looked up at the men and instantly remembered a flashback of him being dragged from his homeland by seven or so big and brutish Danish soldiers, being thrown onto a boat to Odin knows where, and being dragged along strange village streets... Tino slowly took a step back.

Nikolas, feeling his cousin tense behind him, lightly broke his hand contact with the Finn and gave a curt nod to the soldiers, head held high.

The men looked at each other before bowing with a quick snap to the _Damen Ulv_, blinking a bit confused to the small little Finn who was hanging back near a clump of dandelions.

Nikolas turned his head sharply to Tino and blinked slowly, like a sleek cat sifting away. He darted his gaze over to the soldiers. Tino, knowing that he couldn't let past experiences get to him, took in a big and well needed breath of air before shuffling forward. He swallowed thickly and gave a small, mouse of a nod to the six gentlemen who were eying Tino like they didn't know what to do with him.

"Good mornin' Lady _Ulv_, Lady _Lejon_. How may we be of service?" one of the tall and sturdier looking men asked, leaning on his spear gently, his eyes a cool and frosty blue—like a wild husky. Nikolas's blank face melted and slipped away to reveal two deep, yet very friendly sapphire jeweled eyes.

"My cousin and I wish to go into the meadows by the river to cut and dry our herbs for our medical practice. We would be ever so indebted if you would allow us to pass the borders of the war camp." Nikolas asked, his voice thick with a certain charm that Tino had no clue the male could posses.

Apparently neither could the man, because he simply stood there and scratched the back of his head like a lumbering bear—definitely Danish.

"Ah, well, I don't know if that'd be allowed... Ya' see, we got orders to keep people in—especially the two brides..." The chestnut brown haired man muttered sorrily, his eyes remaining as sturdy as a tub of softly melting butter, slowly slipping in solidity.

Nikolas frowned.

"We have already discussed this with Lord Mathias and Lord Berwald, we have permission to go to the rivers edge. But, perhaps, if we had an escort, it might be more convincing?" He tried again, this time, replacing the false sweet voice with bitter coldness that Tino knew so well.

The man swallowed harshly, as if a huge bug had just flown into his mouth.

"Ah, I guess if ya' were accompanied by some soldiers..."The man muttered. Nikolas let a simple smile weave onto his lips.

"Thank you very much, that would be most appreciated. Wouldn't it Tino?" Nikolas flitted his gaze to his cousins. Tino's eyes immediately shifted over to his cousin's, his voice dry and sluggish.

"Ah, yes. Yes, very much so." Tino mumbled weakly, looking down at the basket in his arms, wanting nothing more than to stick his head into the damned thing and scuttle away like a frightened animal.

The guard nodded and loped off towards the village roads, taking a sharp corner that bisected to the smaller paddocks where a throng of stout and coarse-haired ponies were munching on green and thick clumps of grass. Nikolas turned his gaze to the other five men who looked back quietly, their eyes slowly sliding to Tino, as if he was some rare creature. The four Swedish soldiers did their best to stand tall, attentive, spears in hand, while the lone Dane was shifting his eyes to Tino and then to Nikolas, with a sort of reverent gaze.

Finally, one of them spoke, low and murmured, garbled and cautious.

"Ah. _Damnen Lejon_, if you don't mind me asking—Is it true yer' from a foreign land—where everyone looks like little pixies with purple eyes?" The tallest Swede cracked, his eyes wide and glassy, as if wanting to soak up the answer like a badly needed drink.

Tino stuttered, his tongue twisted in its place, refusing to sound out coherent words let alone sentences.

"Well, I was born in Finland, and I did live there with Nikolas and his mother and father—but I can't really say that everyone in Finland looks like pixies... So far I'm the only person I've met with violet eyes..." Tino mumbled out, his voice a thin tremor. The tall Swede shifted uncomfortably, clutching his spear to his chest a little tighter than was necessary.

"Then ya' havn't seen Ivan... his eyes 'er purple—a deep purple—like when plums are left in the sun ta' rot, that kinda' purple..." The Swede bit out, his voice just as strained as Tino's except his was laced with an undertone of fear. Tino cocked his head to the side.

"Ivan?" The remaining soldiers grabbed at the wooden or silver talismans of Mjollnir tied to their necks as if they needed some form of security after the mysterious name had been spoke.*

The tall Swede that had first spoken to Tino nodded with a quick flail of his pale but thick neck.

"He's th' Russian's leader—Ivan th' Terrible." The man breathed out through his nose, making his nostrils flare like a started horse, his green speckled eyes widening. The other men shuddered. Tino stared at them with puzzlement.

"You are the best of the Swedish and Danish army, how can one leader inspire so much fear into grown men?" The Finn asked with bated breath, his brows knitted together. A few of the men let out a shaky laugh.

"He ain't like any normal man I've ever seen..." The Danish man breathed out, shivering his shoulders and shaking his head like he tasted something foul and acidic.

"Aye, he's got silver spun hair that shines like the blade of a freshly cleaned sword, an' a sicken' sweet voice that'd make honey taste bitter..." One man mumbled.

"I heard he splits people's heads open with a metal stick, smashin' their brains like ripened squash..." Another man shuddered.

"He once set a whole troop on fire by throwin' hot oil on 'em in big ol' slingshots n' settin' it on fire with burnin' arrows..." A third man said, his voice shaking as if he was a babe that needed to be cradled to his mothers arms.

"Gentlemen, you are scaring my poor cousin—Save your ghost stories for the feast tonight, eh?" Nikolas's disapproving voice shattered the tense atmosphere like a mallet hitting against a thin sheet of ice. The men looked up, their eyes wide and a bit startled, but their quivering lips stayed shut, only their harsh breathing filling the sweetened summer air.

Tino turned to his cousin with a bit of curiosity, his mouth quietly opening to ask a question of clarification for this terrible Ivan that the soldiers had just described. But before the Finn could find his voice, he heard the heavy footsteps of several animals, the sounds of their knees bending against the soft earth creating a clicking clacking noise.

Tino turned his head just in time to see the tall Danish man from before leading a string of three ponies, all tied to one another like a mule train. Behind him were four soldiers all mounted on stout little Icelandic ponies, spears resting in their hands, reigns laid along the saddles horn in a lazy fashion. The Danish man with the ice frosted eyes stopped right in front of Tino and Nikolas and gave a small nod of his head.

Nikolas let a thin smile grace his lips before he approached the man, his brother still curled into his arms like a little rag doll.

"Thank you for giving us an escort Mr. Sørensen." Nikolas said curtly before making his way over to a patiently standing sturdy little pony with a tan hide and a white stiff mane with black tips. The horse raised its head and jolted it back and forth, making the leather corded reigns fly up and down the horses short and thick neck. Nikolas patted the horse on the muzzle before grabbing the reigns from Mr. Sørensen.

Tino watched as his cousin, still holding Björt, carefully and oh-so-slowly heaved himself up on the stout and primitive looking pony before collecting the reigns in his right hand, his left placing Björt in front of him on the saddle, making the little boy's eyes widen with joy.

Tino swallowed thickly and looked to see Mr. Sørensen mounting his own horse, a pretty little bay pony with a blinding stripe of white along its large head. Tino stared up at the man who smiled softly and nodded to an unmounted thick maned dapple gray pony who snorted softly, his reigns laying limp along his small woven saddle strapped with a thick leather cinch. Tino stared at the small legged horse and stiffly walked up to it, his eyes wide, hands unsure of what to do.

He had never ridden a horse before in all his life. He didn't need to, Nikolas was always the one who made the house calls and who rode their light draft horse to a fro in emergency medical situations. Tino had always stayed behind and looked after Björt and made sure the cooking fires didn't burn low. He had been around horses of course, had tacked them up, had hitched them to a plow, but he had never ridden one. He bit his lip and stared back at the slowly chewing horse that had a frock of white along its head, its long hair looking as soft as a lambs wool.

Before he even knew it the Swedish man who had conversed with him earlier, walked over to the Finn and placed his wide hands over the horses bridle, holding the already patient animal steady. He then placed his other hand near the horses belly, his palm face up. He smiled knowingly to Tino and jutted his head over to the ponies back, telling Tino with his eyes that it would be okay, he wouldn't let him fall. The man took the low set basket from his arms and handed it to another male rider who was patiently waiting to trot up the small hill that lead out of the war camp and into the forest.

Tino swallowed and shook his head, about to tell the man that he would be just fine walking up the trail. That is, until the other men started to chuckle lightly, urging Tino into the saddle with their diligent words, as if they were baiting a young child to take his first steps.

Tino heard Nikolas shift in the saddle of his own mount and lightly led the horse to a loping trot, the horse snorting loudly. Nikolas scanned his eyes over to his cousin and turned to the Swedish soldier who was doing his best to coax the Finn closer to the small docile animal.

"My cousin has never ridden before, perhaps we should hitch up a cart to the pony, something to help him face his fear?" The Norwegian's cool voice slipped around Tino and made his breath catch in his throat. That's right, he was acting like a scared child, too nervous to even ride a small little animal! Tino ground his teeth together and shook his head.

"No, I am fine, just a bit...Cautious..." Tino murmured sourly, his hands lightly going closer to the shaggy animal. His fingers touched the coarse hair of the animals haunches, the pony breathing underneath his touch, chewing his bit with boredom. Tino squared his shoulders and turned to the blinking eyes of the Swedish soldier.

"Help me get on?" Tino asked him, his voice slowly steadying. The man nodded and, telling Tino to grasp the reigns, he helped the Finn swing his legs over onto the horse, which resulted in Tino almost falling off the other side and landing on his bum in the dirt.

"Perkele!"* Tino shrieked as his face almost landed in the mud. The soldiers around him immediately grabbed him and set him upright, their eyes wide, mouth parted from fear, for if anything happened to the Swedes bride...

"Perhaps we should get a cart..." The Swedish soldier joked, his hands still trying to steady the Finn into the sturdy and a bit uncomfortable saddle. Tino smiled grimly.

"No, no, I will be fine... Um... What do I do now?" He asked, his hands fidgeting with the reigns.

"We'll go slow, aye? Just keep yer hands up near the saddle horn, make sure they're gripped on the reigns, give ol' Mjölk enough lead an' he'll be as sweet as a ol' dairy cow..."* The Swede assured, patting the horse on the neck, the animal shaking his head lightly, making Tino stiffen.

"Follow my horse Tino, we'll go slow..." Nikolas murmured with as much kindness as he could muster in the soldiers presence. The Finn nodded and watched as two of the men from the escort party lightly kicked their ponies into a slow trot, the animals picking up their heads, tossing tails back and forth like they were on parade. Nikolas lightly edged his pony closer to the Finn's and clicked his tongue, making both their animals pick up their feet.

Tino leaned a bit forward in the saddle, his eyes wide, his feet clenching around the horses middle as there was nothing to rest his feet on while the animal moved with squared steps. But after a few minutes of ridding up a slowly sloping hill, the small party of men, with the lightest touch of their feet, urged their ponies into a small turn that opened up to reveal a thick and lush forest, where the sounds of wild birds called out into the patching sunlight.

Tino lifted his head up and breathed out a sigh of awe, his eyes scanning over the limbs of the trees that seemed to grab at the sky, their twisted trunks standing proud in the thick and misty sunlight that filtered in through the light shifting of dark green leaves. Tino looked all around and noticed that the men were silent, reverent in the beautiful scene that was the forest that surrounded them and lightly embraced them. It was like a froth of green and gold that sprung up from the earth to capture Tino's breath in a silent whisper of awe. This forest... It was beautiful...

"It is called the Forest of Arvak and Alsvid, because no matter how much the green trees grow, no matter how much the heather blooms, and the sky is clouded in shimmering emeralds, sunlight can still seep in.* This forest is dense and thick, but, even on a stormy day when the rain thunders and pounds down along the earth, you can still count on a small bought of sunlight sweeping in." Nikolas explained, smoothing his hands over his brothers pale and silvery hair.

Tino looked along the dirt laden road, and sure enough, sunlight invaded his sight like a gleaming waterfall, slipping and sliding through the trees frames with ease. The Finn sighed and relaxed in the saddle, his brain numbing from the beauty that was the Swedish forest.

It was only when Nikolas nudged his horse into a turn in the path that Tino shook his head and came back down to earth, his horse walking smoothly along the soft earthen path, his tail lightly dragging against the pine needled ground.

The horses in front of Tino suddenly stopped with a jolt of their heads and the two men that led the escort partly lightly slid from their ponies with ease, collecting the reigns and tying them on the low boughs of some aspen saplings.

Nikolas and Tino did the same, although with some effort as Nikolas was still cradling Björt, and Tino was horribly impaired when it came to riding. But finally, with much straining of muscles that he didn't posses, and courage that he simply did not have, the Finn tumbled down from the low set horse and landed, surprisingly on his feet. A man came near Tino's ponies head and softly took the reigns from the Finn, lifting them up from the animals big and shaggy head and wrapping them around the branch of a dog wood tree, the blossoms in late bloom.

Tino walked stiffly over to Nikolas who was untying a few cords from his robe, draping it over his horses saddle. The Norwegian turned to his cousin and smiled, leading the Finn along a gentle drop of earth that winded down to a pined and grass covered floor. The man that had been given Tino's basket returned it to the Finn with a gentle push of his hands, Tino shrinkingly taking the bundle into his arms.

"Shall you be needing us to escort you down?" Mr. Sørenson asked, his voice sounding as helpful as could be. Nikolas lightly shook his head and, kindly, said no, the men could just wait up top for a little bit. The man nodded and turned back to the rest of the soldiers who were already beginning to take out some tobacco and pipes, muttering some bits of gossip or some old war stories to keep themselves entertained.

Nikolas, leading Tino mildly by the elbow, padded along the dusty brown earth that dropped a little ways into a carved out sprig of land, a few fallen logs long since forgotten combing the ground.

The Norwegian lightly placed Björt down on a blanket against a patch of soft clover, the little boy busying himself with playing with a stuffed toy of a bird. Nikolas motioned for his cousin to set the basket of goods on a tree stump, the cut wood standing silently along a corner of the clearing.

Tino did as he was told, busying himself with unpacking the many things that the Norwegian had packed, a water jug, some twine wrapped herbs, two small sickles, and a mortar and pestle of gray soft stone. Nikolas walked over to the Finn and ran his smooth pale hand over the handle of the water jug before walking a little ways to the north of the clearing. Tino looked up from unwrapping a few bundles of lemon grass to gaze over towards his silent cousin who was hopping over a few fallen logs, their bark crackling and sliding off under the Norwegians leather clad feet.

Tino turned back to the basket before looking back to Nikolas, his eyes following his slowly fading cousin's shape with curiosity. The Finn looked over to see Björt who was happily picking a few stems of some bright blue flowers. Tino looked at the little child before scooping him up in his arms. The child crooned and made a small noise that could be deciphered as a 'flower!' but Tino wasn't entirely sure. Instead, he just hiked up the babe into his arms and softly trotted out from the grove that was dotted with small flakes of grinning flowers of the brightest colors. Tino blinked rapidly before climbing over the stiff logs that Nikolas had, careful to find his footing so that he wouldn't fall and injure both his little cousin and himself.

After the third log Tino began to grow tired and he could no longer see his cousin in the light streamed forest. Frustrated, he sat on a bark covered log and rested his chin on his little cousin's head, the little boy grinning up at the immensely tall trees that rose like tall castles and walls around the Finn.

Tino sighed and was about to go back to the forest grove when he heard the soft splashes of running water skidding and swirling around ahead of him. Tino, straining his ears, quickly sat up and rested Björt on his hip, the child wrapping his small chubby arms around the Finn's waist.

The Finn, holding onto his little cousin, felt around with his feet along the dry forest floor, his ears trying desperately to make out the noise of the running water. His goat hide shoes lightly crunched over stalks of grass, a small little path that had been recently stomped through, indicated that Nikolas had passed with way. So, set with a new bought of determination, Tino quickly trotted along the flattened path, saw grass and willow branches sharply cutting or whacking him into the face. But finally, with much patience on his part, he stumbled along into a wide birth of green willow trees and thick trails of pussy willows strewn with a thin strip of sand.

Sitting along a quiet beaches edge, jug dipped into the lazily moving river, sat Nikolas, his eyes thick, like a slate of heavy glass, his shoulders bent to support the weight of the clay jug as it filled with water.

Tino knelt down, still clutching Björt and watched, as if he was witnessing a carefree deer paw through the shrubs of the earth, quiet and with a dainty kick in it's step. Nikolas rose with a fluid movement, tucking the jug, wet with mountain snow runoff, and turned around slowly, like a clay bead rolling on a slab of wood.

"I knew you would follow...So, you are still as curious as a little rabbit, eh?" Nikolas smiled, the jug of water held to his chest like a precious bundle of goods. Tino smiled sheepishly.

"So, this is the river?" Tino asked, his voice dripping with curiosity. He set Björt down so that the toddler could stretch his legs before he sat up and walked carefully towards his cousin.

"This is the river, yes. It feeds the swamp that is a bit more to the east." Nikolas explained, heaving up the jug in his arms more firmly, as if carrying a heavy wrapped package that mustn't fall.

The river swirled and crashed along the beach, the cool mountain run off snow feeding the fattening stream. The water looked bitterly cold, but its glassy surface simply memorized the Finn.

"What is the water for?" Tino asked, gesturing to the gourd that was heaved in the Norwegians hands. Nikolas shifted the jug in his arms before walking over to Tino, gesturing with the solid weight of his eyes for the Finn to pick up the little Icelander, the baby beginning to whine and grow impatient with the lack of attention, blubbering random sentences of words and clippings of phrases.

"I needed you to help me soak and strain some Slippery Elm bark, I'm running low after you used some on Peter this morning... Speaking of which, how is the little lion cub?" Nikolas asked with a bit of hopefulness as the two boys hopped over the circlets and ringlets of logs that sat silently along the pine covered floors, their dried out bodies groaning and crooning in the sweet and golden warm summer air.

Tino frowned and heaved up Björt in his arms tighter, the little toddler grasping at his dove soft hair, marveling at the pretty violet flower that had been stuffed behind his ear with such gentle care.

"I used some Slippery Elm back, a slab of honey and mixed all together with some spring water, but it didn't seem to help at all. Instead, the marks were still scraggly and as red as Freyja's golden tears. I fear that it is no inflammation, but something inside the child, something like an insect or a thorn—something that is making eternal marks upon his stomach."* Tino paused to look at Nikolas with desperate worried eyes.

Nikolas turned to his cousin and sighed, stepping down from the last log the two cousin's and Björt in two sat themselves down along the clearing, spreading out the blue cloth from the basket before them, dumping out the sickles, mortar and pestle, and the few wrappings of herbs that they saw fit to bring.

"So then you saw the blue rune that I etched on the child's stomach?" Nikolas asked curiously, beginning to unwrap the casings of some dried and crumbling blue comfrey flower.* The crispy plant had paled to a pea green color, the twine around it breaking off the leaves messily.

Tino nodded and helped pour some of the cool and crisp water into the mortal and pestle, just a dash. Nikolas sighed and sprinkled some of the dried plant, leaves and all, into the low lipped gray dish before grounding them together by placing the heel of his hand on the pestle.

"The marks on his stomach, I believe that they are from some kind on insect, a fly's bite or perhaps a worm embedded itself in his skin." Tino murmured as he sat up quietly and began walking around the clearing, scooping the stems of some wild meadow-sweet for burns in case his theory _was_ wrong and Peter had been burned by something.

"I just don't get it. I've seen the marks before, but I just can't remember for the life of when what the disease is called..." Tino mumbled sourly, plopping himself down on the ground.

Nikolas paused in the dull grinding of the medicine that he was preparing for the soldiers before he looked up thoughtfully at Tino.

"You say they are red marks, brick red, and that they plump up out from his skin?" Nikolas asked with a tinge of worry yet suspicion in his voice. Tino nodded vigorously.

"They are scratch to the touch, grainy almost—like sand." The Finn answered with bated breath. He stumbled over to his cousin and sat before him, his eyes wide, ears straining there best to ot miss a beat of the Norwegians voice.

"How big are they? The diameter of each of them I mean?" Nikolas murmured out carefully, seriously. His hands having all since stopped grinding the comfrey root mixture. Tino furrowed his brow and bit at his lip, his hands tucked into his lap, fingers twisting into his tunic skirts.

"About half a fingers width apart...?" He guessed, looking up at his cousin. Something twitched behind the Norseman's eyes, something like the beginnings of a flame. Tino blinked his eyes rapidly, feeling puzzled.

"Are the patches overlapping?" Nikolas breathed out with a quick start of breath, setting down the mortar and pestle down beside him. Tino opened his mouth before snapping it shut, willing his brain to remember. He shook his head desperately before answering.

"Ah...Um... They are not overlapping yet but when I looked at them this morning there was a bit of a fleshy peachy color that was forming along his hips, some of them lightly growing under the dominant four." Tino's voice was panicky. Nikolas had found something, something that set the Norwegian's eyes ablaze. This was not a good sign.

"Tino, think long and hard, was their any discoloration in Peter's nails?" Nikolas asked, lightly taking his cousin's shoulders by his cold and pale hands. Tino's eyes widened and his mouth parted. Was there something wrong with Peter's nails? Tino didn't remember seeing anything unusual about them...

Tino scrunched up his face in confusion and worry before he un tucked his feet from under his rump, sliding his right hand along his trouser pants and finally to his goat hid boot. He dug around with his fingers in the soft and curly fur of the inside of the boot before he retrieved what he was looking for. The piece of parchment that he had written all of his findings about Peter's illness on.

He placed the crumpled up paper in his lap and scanned his eyes wildly along it's surface, looking for a clue, something that could possible aide him in his quest to find what was wrong with the sick little British boy.

His eyes examined hurriedly over the black inked paper before something caught his violet stare.

"Yes! Yes! I wrote down here that his nails were a bit discolored, like a greenish-yellow, as if they were bruised, they were also brittle to the touch." Tino murmured out, pointing to the dried ink on the piece of medical parchment paper. Nikolas swallowed thickly and took the paper from his cousin. After a few quiet seconds of his elder cousin looking over the list of recorded findings on the sick child, Nikolas slowly lifted his eyes from the paper and to his cousin's desperate stare, the Norwegian's eyes as deep and sorrowful blue, like the storm when it rams a boat into a crag of rocks, leaving no survivors.

"Ni-Nikolas..." Tino breathed out into the now sickeningly warm air. He clutched at his cousin's hands and held them in his lap.

"Nikolas, you know what's wrong with him, don't you?" Tino whispered, his voice thick with onslaught of something heavy on his tongue, something that felt all to like the onslaught of sobbing tears. Nikolas looked down at his cousin's hands that were light clenched in his. Nikolas blinked softly before he gazed up at his cousin's shallow and worried filled eyes.

"I know what's wrong with him." He muttered hopelessly, his voice doing it's very best to stay solid, to stay together, if only for Tino's sanity.

"Nikolas, tell me, whats wrong with him. Tell me so I can cure him." Tino insisted, his eyes stinging suddenly. He didn't like the despair in his cousin's voice. Lost hope was something that he had never once heard in his cousin's voice and it scared him nearly to death.

"Tino, I don't know how to tell you this—but I fear Peter might not live to see another summer..." Nikolas choked out sadly, his voice a thin whisper as it buried itself into Tino's ears, making a chill run all the was down the Finn's toes to the tip of his nose.

"What do you mean Nikolas?" Tino's eyes widened, his voice thick and weighty, making his cousin cringe with something along the lines of regret.

"Tino, I've seen the illness you have described before. Not many people live from it..." Nikolas tried to explain rationally but was stopped as Tino tightened his grip on his cousin's frail hands.

"What is wrong with him Nikolas?" Tino asked through gritted teeth, his body becoming a unwelcoming numb that pierced against his heart, making his body shiver.

Nikolas swallowed thickly before muttering a single word that made Tino's eyes widened with horror and despair.

"Ringworm..."*

…...

** DUN DUN DUN! I had another ending that was REALLY off track, so I had to change it, sorry if it sounds like I rushed into the illness thing! ^^"" I'm sorry I made Tino seem REALLY indecisive. Hah Tino can't ride a pony... AND BERWALD CRIES! OH MAH GODS! I hope you guys liked this story even though it took a small mythological turn. Next chapter will be better, a bit more medically awesome and Tino will finally discover how to help our young Peter! REVIEW OR THE DOLPHINS WILL EAT MEH!**

**Authors Notes (Shit there's a lot of them!): **

-"It was no spell, no casting of the runes, no candle magic.*"- 'Runes'** are an alphabet that was used most commonly in Norwegian and British history; they are still used today by Pagans everywhere, though they are mostly associated with the use of magic and diviniation now.** 'candle magic' **refers to the use of candles to imitate a person, most often yourself, and to help you gain a certain goal, such as fertility, luck, health, knowledge etc... It is still wildly practiced by a whole array of practitioners of the Old Faith. **

-"Tino was a peace offering for Odins sake.*"-**'Odin' was the main patron God in Norse mythology. **

**-"Tino had often heard Nikolas explain to Tino that the Goddess Eir only told her healing secrets to women who prayed and who practiced diligently, so he and Tino would have to pray and practice extra hard since they were males and would not as easily be heard by the Goddess.*"- 'Eir' was the Goddess of healing and hand maiden to Frigg, but she would only share her secrets to maidens who wished to learn the art of medicine. **

-The camp cooks made me Norwegian dishes such as _Toscakake,_ the bards sang Norwegian folk songs, even the people themselves did their very best to greet me kindly in the Norwegian language.*-'Toscakake' **is a small round Norwegian cake that is almond flavored and is dressed with slivered almonds. **

**-**He didn't want to reveal his feelings and he sure as Hel didn't want to express them.*-**'Hel'**** was the daughter of Loki. She was a rotting evil ugly women who ruled **_**Helhein, which **_**was basically Norse Hell but instead of being all fire and brimstone, it was cold and damp.**

-"This elder is one of the tribes wise women, she gives you the flower of the violet Aster that matches your eyes to help open your sight with love."***-Herb lore! Yeah! So, many people believe that 'Aster' is ruled by Venus and is a great flower to use for love. **

-"The beet is ruled by love and helps to make wishes come true.***-The beet is good for love and for making wishes come true. It is ruled by Saturn. **

-The first women muddled her hands through her little _hangerock_ aprons to produce the scraggly stem of a plant.***-A '**_**Hangerock'**_** was an apron that viking woman used to carry domesticated items such as knives or scissors. They also used it to keep the dirt from their dresses. **

**-**Tino recognized them as a curled dried stem of a stalk of Bedstraw and a smoky colored root of Black cohosh.***- 'Bedstraw' is ruled by Venus and is good for Love. 'Black cohosh' is a black root that is good for courage and protection, love and potency. It is ruled by Jupiter. **

**-**The remaining soldiers grabbed at the wooden or silver talismans of Mjollnir tied to their necks as if they needed some form of security after the mysterious name had been spoke.***-'Mjollnir' is the God Thor's hammer, the weapon that he uses to kill Trolls and enemies. Many of Norse Pagan's from whom I've know personally wear a talisman of the hammer as their form of protection and religion, much like a Christian wearing a cross. **

-"Perkele!"***-"Fuck!" in Finnish. **

-"We'll go slow, aye? Just keep yer hands up near the saddle horn, make sure they're gripped on the reigns, give ol' Mjölk enough lead an' he'll be as sweet as a ol' dairy cow..."***-'Mj****ö****lk' translates to 'Milk' in Swedish. Cute yet weird name for a pony! **

-"It is called the Forest of Arvak and Alsvid, because no matter how much the green trees grow, no matter how much the heather blooms, and the sky is clouded in shimmering emeralds, sunlight can still seep in.***-'Arvak' translates to 'Early Waker' the name of one of the horses that pulls the sun ****along its course. 'Alsvid' translates to 'All Swift' and is the name of the other horse that pulls the sun along its course in Norse Mythology. **

"I used some Slippery Elm back, a slab of honey and mixed all together with some spring water, but it didn't seem to help at all. Instead, the marks were still scraggly and as red as Freyja's golden tears. I fear that it is no inflammation, but something inside the child, something like an insect or a thorn—something that is making eternal marks upon his stomach."***-Freyja was one of the main and most beautiful of the Norse Goddesses. When she was distraught she would often cry heavy tears of red gold. **

**-**Nikolas asked curiously, beginning to unwrap the casings of some dried and crumbling blue comfrey flower.***- 'Comfrey' is a blue bell like flower that is used to help heal sore muscles. **

**-**"Ringworm..."***-I have never had ringworm so excuse me if I get something wrong with the diagnosis. Basically it is a disease caused by a type of contagious fungus infection that can affect the scalp, the body (particularly the groin), the feet, and the nails. It has nothing to do with worms. (But this story takes place in a time frame were not ever medical science was available) The name comes from brick red colored ring that can appear on an infected person's skin. It is especially common in children and pets, and if left untreated can cause a stable infection. (Death is possible but not likely with today's medical treatment—but like I said, this story takes place in a time where health is HIGHLY neglected.) **


	6. Ol' Trickster Mjölk

**I just got my wisdom teeth out so I'm a bit out of it—but I hope I still have enough sanity to write the next chapter of this damn story. So sit back and enjoy the drama! Thank you for the Reviews, thank you to **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, and **Rusuu** for being my awesome Swedish/Finnish translators! Much love to you guys! (No ponies named "Mjölk were harmed in this chapter!)**

**Oh, and I am so stupid- Apparently one should feverishly research Ringworm before basing a young bushy eyed British boy's illness on it! Sorry guys! But thank you very much for your constructive reviews and your recollections of personal experiences! **

…...

Tino ran. His feet dug painfully into the sharp pine needled floor as his thin goat hide shoes did their best to support his weight as he clawed his way back up to the small forest clearing trail where the ponies were waiting patiently with the soldiers. His hands furrowed themselves into the dusty earth that crumbled underneath his scrunched fingers. He bit his lip as the sharp husk from a root nicked at his unprotected hands, his head tucked under his shoulder as he did his best to scurry up the small craggy cliff that had once seemed so small but was now so frightfully tall and impending.

As soon as Nikolas had uttered that horror and sorrow filled word, Tino had sprung forth from the clearing like a deer shied away from a copse by a hunters careless movements. Before he could even register the _thought_ to move let alone breath, he felt the need to go to Peter's side right away. Already the sounds of his heated footsteps illuminated the thicket with a humming and crackling of noise, his feet shuffling underneath the dried grass that had been neglected by summers fattening rains.

The first thing that had struck his mind like a sharp blow from a swords edge was the very name of the illness that Nikolas had uttered. Ringworm. Ringworm? Ringworm.

Why hadn't he thought of it himself, why hadn't it ever occurred to him that the little boys very illness could be caused by something so simple? By something that was so easily contagious and yet easy to prevent?

Tino took a shuttered breath as he heard Nikolas's voice behind him, calling him back with a flurry of words that didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered any more in that moment except Peter.

Poor Peter who was suffering from something that Tino had only just realized could be a possibility! Tino should have seen the signs, should have remembered the red markings that were so distinctive to the boys piteous parchment colored flesh! He should have taken more special notice of the boys discolored nails, of the overlapping of the damnable markings that resembled that of an iron branding on the British child's flesh! Tino gnashed his teeth together and swore under his breath. He should have caught the signs quicker—but he hadn't. Now he had to make it all right, he had to get to the sick child before any more harm could be done to his already fragile state. He only prayed to the Gods that he wasn't too late.

"Tino-! Tino come back!" Nikolas called to his cousin with fiery anguish, just as Tino had scavenged up the dusty and low lipped cliff, his hands all bruised and scraped, the belly and chest of his tunic skirts completely thickened and tangled with a fine layer of filth and grass stains. But still the ragged breathed Finn climbed until his right leg wrenched over the cliff's mouth, his arms gripping with all their might to a few stalks of uprooted saw grass for support, the blades of the plants slitting into his palms numbly.

All at once, his gruff grunts of anguish were met with helpful and unknown hands gripping into his arms, hauling him up onto level and solid ground, the soft grass a welcoming feel on his heated cheeks.

It was only when a few worried voice drifted into his ears that he was able to distinguish rough yet sturdy hands supporting him up, as he was undoubtedly in a sorry looking state.

"If ya' wanted ta' get up above th' cliff ya' should've asked. We'd a helped ya!" One of the soldiers laughed, helping to hold the Finn up by steadying his arms around his shoulders. Tino didn't even bother to answer nor to thank the man for hoisting him up. Instead the Finn, still set on a common goal, whipped his gaze around to face the lazily tied up ponies, their heads low to the ground, tails swishing pesky flies away from their rumps with ease.

Tino's eyes caught the sight of the heavy looking pony that he had rode up on into the forest not but a few minutes ago, animals eyes doleful, almost sleepy. Tino quickly made a dive for the animals knotted reigns, making the animal back up with hasty steps, his eyes suddenly rolling back to show a curtain of white the color of bright and polished ivory. Tino gritted his teeth and turned to one of the soldiers, his hands rammed up against the animals tossing neck.

"Un-tie him!" he spoke with fire in his breath as if he were barking out a war command. The soldier, a young jade eyed Swede balked with parted lips, his body frozen, unsure of what he should do. He looked to the other soldiers for guidance, but they were just as mildly stunned as him, their hands lightly clutching their smoking pipes or bits of their lunches—everything was quiet. Tino growled.

The young Finn then suddenly frowned and tugged at the animals bridle harshly, the pony swinging its head to knock it against the Finn's steady arm. The Icelandic pony let a low croon of a noise bellow from it's bared mouth before Tino stared straight at the soldiers, his eyes more urgent, more terrified-more cold.

"Un-tie this horse or I swear to the Gods I will have your heads mounted on a pike! I am the _Damen Lejon_! Or do you dare to go against me!" Tino hissed out with as much of an air of authority as he could muster. His courage was slowly sapping from his body at the thought of the poor sick child, tucked away at bed, his strength waning.

Tino wretched his hands against the nimble stitches of the saddle blanket, using the bits of the tucked leather cinch to get his bearings as he shuffled his way awkwardly on top of the animal in one piece. The dapple gray pony, frightened and undoubtedly spooked, gave a sharp buck of his head, his eyes rolling back to show that blinding white, his mouth biting painfully on the iron bit with tight chomping movements.

Suddenly the sounds of wild panting could be heard in front of Tino as Nikolas himself, burdened by a wildly crying Björt stumbled up to the clearing. The Norwegian blew the hair from his eyes with a froth of air, his eyes closed to thin slits, his mouth parted slightly to make room for breath in his lungs.

"Tino, calm down! There will be time to save him, hold on! The soldiers will take you back to the tent at a steady pace! You cannot ride such a spirited horse down such a loose graveled road!" Nikolas shouted to his cousin, his shaking hands heaving Björt up to his shoulders, the babe, swaddled in cloth, made a high pitched noise of fright.

Tino grimaced and shook his head slowly.

"By then Peter's condition will have worsened. I will not have my son die by my carelessness." Tino murmured out with a defiant breath. Nikolas's eyes widened with a shock of navy blue before he swallowed thickly, nodding to his cousin with a quick jab of his head. Nikolas knew not to go against Tino's wish this time. The Finn would have to make up his own mind this time, he would have to put his own neck on the line for something that he dearly cared about. Nikolas only hoped the young Finn could hold his fate betwixt his hands and not let it go, or else he would tumble to the ground and break in two.

Tino swallowed thickly, biting back his fear. He then turned his venomous glare over to the soldiers who were standing there puzzled, their eyes wide, hands fastened to their horses bridles, feet stuck solid to the floor as if quicksand had swept over their legs. Tino made a dull kick to the horses side, causing the animal to roll it's feet from beneath it, the horse jerking it's massive head away from the straining dogwood sapling, doing it's very best to free itself from the confusing situation.

"Have you no loyalty to your leaders Bride? _Un-tie my horse_!" Tino shouted over to the men with frantic eyes. The men quickly flickered their gaze over to the Finn's anger red face. Upon that wild shout, one of the men, a Dane perhaps, nodded quickly before scurrying over to the impatient Finn who was squeezing his legs into the horses sides with all his might, feeling the animal underneath him ready to buck into a fast gallop, the breathing of the animal ragged.

The man, sturdy and tall like Odin's very hall, quickly did his best to untie the strained reign's from the dogwood's bony clutch.* His hands jumbled about the cords for a mere few seconds before he hesitantly stepped back, his heels digging into the earth to steady himself from the horses persistent rearing.

Once the screaming pony was free from the young tree, the man threw the leather corded reigns over the mounts head in a movement so fast that it took Tino a second to fix his eyes on the cords before he brought them to his hands in a tight grip. Remembering what the Swedish man had said before, Tino leaned his hands closer to the heavily breathing animal, giving him an ample amount of neck room before kicking the pony in the side with the jab of his heel. The animal reeled for a few split seconds before he brought his hind legs up to jut them into the air in a fierce and quick movement, leaving the Finn airborne for the faintest of seconds before the animal's sharp hooves came back down to earth and dug themselves painfully in the pebbled and dirt laden forest ground.

Tino made a quick grab for the horses mane for balance as the animal lunged at a break neck speed to the right and onto the feathered trail, the horses surefooted steps doing little to balance Tino out on the square haunches of the gray flecked beast. Tino made a desperate tug to the left to center the horse with Mjolk's mane flush in his grip. The horses let out an annoyed snort of air before digging his back legs into the earth, making a quick turn along the skinny path that led outward from the forest.

Specks of dirt and rock flew against Tino's face in a ruthless tornado of dust. The Finn did his best to resist the urge to shield his eyes with his shoulders, for fear of falling off the spirited animal and losing an eye in the process. But, much to his desperate relief, the ponies rough gallop had taken them almost to the edge of the golden forest, closer to the village clearing, closer to Peter.

Tino allowed himself a quick gulp of the debris filled air before he spied the softening blue sky of the outward clearing hanging up above like a welcoming curtain. He gripped the reigns tighter to the ponies neck and, with a full flogging kick, edged the horse into a sweat drenching gallop that made the ponies breath race out in a flurry of foam, its eyes speckled white, neck bowed distressingly forward. Yet the white maned horse did his very best to race his heart out, as if the animal himself knew that it was a race against the clock, a race against the very essence of time its self.

…..

The soldiers watched with wild eyes as the young Swede's bride kicked up against the horse in a flurry of dust, the pine needles sputtering from the very speed of the ponies spurred gallop. Nikolas gritted his teeth with worry before he turned to two of the onlooking Swede's, their eyes fixed along the trail with hurried eyes, as if the very horses footprints had bled fire into the earth and the flames were leaping up to devour them.

"Don't just stand there! Go after him! Make sure the fool does not hurt himself!" Nikolas bit out wildly, having one of the Danish soldiers help him on his own little Fjord pony, the animal tossing it's head excitedly, it's stubby mane bristling in the wind.*

At that urgent order from the cold eyed Norwegian, the two dumbfounded Swede's nodded and quickly mounted their ponies, the animals kicking up their heads with fright, not used to being mounted so hastily. The soldiers gripped at the reigns tightly before clicking their tongues, their hands lightly slapping the rumps of their stout legged mounts with a few switches of aspen saplings.

Within a few seconds of evenly paced riding the soldiers horses were then, with an urgent cry and a smack on the rump, fixed into a hasty and sloppy gallop, their haunches glistening with a fresh layer of sweat and baking earth that clung to their lightning fast legs like thick swallowed mud.

Nikolas looked on with painful eyes as the cloud of upturned soil grew feverishly, like a giant brownish ghost moaning into the earth. He grabbed tightly at his brother swaddles and wraps and looked onward, his breath parting his lips in a silent plea, his heart racing along with the sounds of the violent horses running.

"Please Gods, please protect my foolish cousin and his new son, please. Let not harm touch them in it's hateful grasp..." Nikolas choked out, his eyes weighty and solid, like the slowly dying sun on a December morning, cold and thoughtful, hopeful yet dismal.

…

The old yet spirited gray Mjölk made a whinnied jump of his back hind legs as Tino drew him out of the scraggly and solid ground of the golden forest, the horses neck sticking out as straight as a hawks plume feathers against the wind. Tino made a half-heartened attempt to slow the horse down now that they were just about to ride through the crowded village stalls, but the small animal would pay no heed, and instead kicked up his heels faster, leaving a trail of messy flecked mud and drops of foamy sweat like dew onto the stubbed grass.

Round and round they went until they were a mere twenty feet from the hay loaded wagon that rested silently near the opened gates of the war camp, the soldiers from before languidly leaning against the coarse wood of the wagon, their eyes lazily gazing up at the sky.

Tino ground his teeth and did his best to sit up in the lumpy and stretched saddle, having to grip his legs around the horses belly tightly to keep from falling as there was no stirrups to be matched onto the horse.*

A few seconds past before the brush to the side of them erupted like a spray from the madden sea, and a whole froth of blue jays, cawing their heads off, flared up from the underlines of heather and hawthorn to fly in front of Tino's vision.

Mjolk immediately shied its head up and chomped at the bit viciously, a spray of spit and lather escaping his bared mouth like a smoky haze of stars. Tino grasped at the reigns with his right hand while clutching desperately at the horses long kept mane, the white cloud of hair running through his fingers like grainy silk. The Finnish man did his best to steady the startled animal and keep him on his course with all his might, but slowly his arms began to grow heavy and tired. Tino then tried desperately to square his sight over to the low lipped fence that was steadily coming into view. His eyes, suddenly widening, noticed with sudden horror that it was barred shut—no way of ever crossing it without stopping possible.

The Finn's heart began to beat wildly in his chest as his mind suddenly came to the conclusion that he would have to get the guards attention to open the gate, or else he would be split into several pieces by the shaven pine bows. Tino bit his lip fiercely and opened his mouth with a quick parting of sun scorched lips.

"Open the gate! _Open the gate,_ I beg of you!" Tino shouted as loud as he could, his breath barely carrying over the tramping noise of the small ponies sharp edged hooves.

But, with a quick glance behind them, the soldiers immediately stared in shock at the sight of the young Swedish Leaders Bride galloping over the loose and stumbled terrain of the villages land, his horse brandishing his feet wildly like four deadly raised swords.

The five of them, their eyes as wide as the moon on a winter night, quickly stumbled out of the way, their hands grasping at the tug and weight of the pine laden fencing that was the only obstacle in the Finn's way that could either lead to safety or death. Tino swallowed thickly, urging with silent breath for the gawking men to move out of the way lest they wanted to be mowed down.

But suddenly and thankfully, the men, with heaving breath, bruised the fence open and dragged it over the pebbled earth, the noise from the wood grating like the tortured howls from Frenrir the wolf.*

Tino took a shuttering breath before he felt the horse, twitching his ears forward, seem to realize that the fence had been opened. Tino, still unsure of what the Hel he was doing on the back of such a fiery animal, tugged at the jingling reigns to keep the animal turned towards the fence gap—but apparently Mjolk had other plans.

Without warning the old white and gray dusted pony bellowed low in his throat and threw all his weight forward and to the left, his gait edging to a speed that might put dear Sleipnir's eight legs to shame!*

Tino swallowed his breath with a painful and winded gulp as he felt the horses legs shift underneath him to veer off course, the horse's stubborn hooves drifting closer to the wrong side of the gate!

The Finn brandished his hands upon the reign with as much strength as he could muster, but the old Icelandic pony would have none of it. Instead he snorted mockingly and threw up his head with giddy jeering.

The short legged—however fast—animal then barreled his weight straight for the fence, and to Tino's worst nightmare, was attempting to jump over it!

The Finn screamed with terror as the horse was but a few feet away from causing Tino's ultimate and painful death. The trickster pony then, with never a fleeting step, jolted it's legs upward to his breast, and leaped towards the sharply shaven boughs, the soldiers huddled away from the fence, watching with hand covered eyes.

Tino himself was shaking and bit his lips hard enough to draw blood. The Finn buried his face in the horses sweaty neck and let a silent scream stir from his lips. He shut his eyes tight and prayed to the Gods that he would not die slowly but that death would take him swiftly.

_I'm going to die! I'm going to die! I'm going to-!_

_**Stomp!**_

__The sensation of flying. That's what death felt like. At least, that's what Tino was feeling now.

Within a few fleeting seconds the Finn's breath was ripped harshly from his throat as his eyes snapped open for the faintest of seconds, his lulled eyesight catching the glint of something the color of the bright and angry green sea.

Then he had the sudden feel of force of impact. The Finnish man was tugged forward by the power of the horses jump and his legs smacked numbly against the animals jutted limbs, his hands groping around blindly to grab at the reigns, the mane, the saddle straps-anything. But it seemed that luck was not on his side as the horses reigns seemed to have been torn from his fingers, leaving his sweating hands bare.

Tino's ears, which by now were screaming with ripping pain, heard the high pitched whine of the horses as his neck swung back from fright. The startled animal lifted up it's feet with a last surge of strength, his hooves dangling in the air like sharp flagstone. Then, with a movement so quick, the horse brought his feet to stamp dully against the hard ground, shaking Tino a bit from the saddle. Tino heard voices, a flurry of voices. Men's shouts, woman's shattered cries, children's screams, dogs yipping and horses whining, sheep bawling, ravens cawing. It was all so much noise! Noise! Noise! Noise! Too. Much. Noise!

But...

The Finn craned his head upward-at least he thought it was upward-but he really could not be sure. For all he knew his neck could have been severed from his damn shoulders!

Tino, wincing at the slight throbbing pain in the front of his head, lifted up his neck and strained his ears to listen, to try to separate the many voices that were shouting in his ear.

He was still on the horse he realized, because he could still make out the shuttering hums and vibrations of the animals breathing, Mjölk's sweat drenched body soaking through to Tino's tunic. Or maybe that was blood. His blood? The horses blood? Was he bleeding? Tino didn't think so... At least, he didn't feel like his injuries had caused him to bleed. The only thing that really hurt was his forehead and his legs...

Tino took a long sigh and concentrated again on trying to hear the voices, trying to sift through them like grainy sand through his fingers. He breathed out through his nose only to find that it hurt and stung with biting pain. He ground his teeth together and tried once again to stay focused.

Shouts... Defiantly shouts... Male. Gruff and guttered. Definitely not English. Perhaps Swedish...?

He then heard the dull sound of gravel being kicked up, heard the swishes of rope being thrown into the wind quickly, like the hiss from a snake.

He heard murmuring, soft and thick murmuring that vibrated against his skull in an almost...pleasant... hum. It sank deep into his mind and slipped against his ears like a thin veil. It was such a sweet and concentrated sound, so hushed and whispered that it was even quieter than the noise a doves wings make when they take flight.

Tino suspended his head forward and sighed out with unmatched bliss. It was a lovely sound, the sound from a persons lips... A sound that was forged out of sweet things, like flowers, honey, puppies kisses, babies laughter...It was a sound that was brimming with unleashed love.

"Hnnn..." Tino mumbled as he swallowed thickly, his mouth tasting bitter, like dirt.

The horse had stopped his trembling by now and Tino could now make out the sensation that the beast was moving again, slowly, in tight circles. Tino could hear the clipped noise of the horses strained legs trot hastily over the grooved and dusty ground. Someone was leading the horses by the reigns.

Tino furrowed his brows over his closed eyes before he grabbed enough strength to lift his head up again, his palms sliding over to the horses breast, trying to settle himself. He strained his neck up and was about to open his eyes when his head began to throb uncontrollably. He gasped from pain and rolled his head downward, the pressure just too much to bare. Suddenly his chin hit against the animals feverishly warm skin, right along the taunt bone and muscles of Mjölk's neck, making his teeth snap against each other agonizingly. He made a small groan as his jaw tingled with slowly forming pain, un-clenching his hands around the horses hot flesh.

He heard the same patient and loving voice from before coo softly to either him or the horse, he wasn't sure. But before he could think much more on it, he felt someone tug on the now rigid cords connected to the horses bit, like a freshly tightened bow. Opening his eyes slowly with confusion his hazy gaze rested on a shinny and very sweat slicked chest of a man. Tino lulled his head backward and gave a sultry grin, his hazy eyes flickering over to the powerfully built chest that was leaning over him. It was ivory smooth, with a few lines of pink scars that heightened its lusty appearance. Tino had the sudden urge to grab for that heated and toned flesh.

"I must be...dead..." Tino murmured out with the faintest flicker of laughter. The Finn felt two strong and solid arms heave him up from the winded horse and lay him against the nice expanse of warm skin that breathed against the Finn.

"Not dead..." A gruff voice mumbled.

Tino laughed abruptly. "No..." He heaved his head backward to let a few more giggles flee from his lips. He felt drunk, dizzy, and much too happy. Was _this_ what dead felt like?

"I _must_ be dead because why else would the handsome God Balder come to take me to the hall of Valhalla?"*Tino murmured out with playful dizziness, his head still hurting from the horses fretful jump.

The arms around Tino's waist hesitated and went rigid a bit, as if the person was a somewhat dumbfounded at Tino's reasoning. But, within a few seconds the fingers that lightly squeezed and held up Tino's hips threw their weight up and collapsed Tino into the mysterious man's arms, heaving the aching Finn up bridle style.

Tino's grin faltered for a brief second as his legs slowly extended into the air with a sharp ache, but soon those strong arms smoothed and steadied him and he was able to catch his breath.

His hands slid a bit greedily over his rescuers shoulders in a sneaky attempt to run his hands over those taunt and powerful muscles. Tino was more than convinced that he was dead, so what did it matter if he felt up one of the Gods? Could anyone really blame him? The body in front of him was just too delicious and sexy to resist!

Tino giggled again, not even bothering to un-train his eyes from that marvelously smooth chest that his body was pressed up against. He fumbled his hands over the mysterious mans arms, pinching slightly against the skin and the bulging muscles, making the man grumbled a bit. But what did Tino care? He was dead!

"C'lm down... M'ght get a concussion if ya' m've too much..." A rough and worried voice fluttered over Tino's ears. The Finn made a dismissive sound with his mouth, a quick sucking of air that made his face drain of more color. He waved his hand around near his face like a drunken sailor.

Tino was about to protest or come up with a half-assed witty remark when he felt his eye sight spot into colors of blues and off-shades of purple.

"Oh...Ow..." Tino moaned, his throat hurting now as well. His vision was getting blurrier and blurrier. The overbearing sun above made his vision turn a sharp red behind his eyes and it pained his sight immensely.

"I...Ow...Ow!" Tino made a move to grab at his head, to rub his straining shut eyes, to try to alleviate some of the pain.

"Don't let him shake his head, he could faint..." Said a thin and dull voice that sounded strangely like Nikolas. Tino bit his lip and moaned louder, the pain coursing through his head like a herd of reindeer tramping through his mind!

"T'no...T'no... Can ya' hear meh?"

Tino groaned and tried to throw his head back, but something solid and warm stopped him, a hand perhaps.

"T'no, lay still... It'll be alr'ght, you'll be ok, I'll m'ke sure of it, m'w'fe..." The same gruff voice from before whispered soothingly into his ears. Tino growled out and furrowed his brow, the pain making it harder and harder to even form words let alone sentences.

"I'm...not...your...w-wife...!" Tino gasped out with sudden defiance, still not really sure who he was talking to. He took a final shaky breath before he slowly laid his head back and his vision dipped into a blackness that swelled around his head like ice cold water.

…

Short chapter I know! Sorry!

Authors Notes:

–The man, sturdy and tall like Odin's very hall, quickly did his best to untie the strained reign's from the dogwood's bony clutch.*-Odin was the main God in Norse mythology.

-Nikolas bit out wildly, having one of the Danish soldiers help him on his own little Fjord pony, the animal tossing it's head excitedly, it's stubby mane bristling in the wind.* -Fjord is an old pony bred in Norway.

-Tino ground his teeth and did his best to sit up in the lumpy and stretched saddle, having to grip his legs around the horses belly tightly to keep from falling as there was no stirrups to be matched onto the horse.* -Vikings did not have stirrups on their saddles.

-But suddenly and thankfully, the men, with heaving breath, bruised the fence open and dragged it over the pebbled earth, the noise from the wood grating like the tortured howls from Frenrir the wolf.*-Frenrir is the son of Loki and is a wolf that the Gods bound by chains. Only the end of the world will free him so that he can wreck havoc.

-Without warning the old white and gray dusted pony bellowed low in his throat and threw all his weight forward and to the left, his gait edging to a speed that might put dear Sleipnir's eight legs to shame!*-Sleipnir was Odin's horse and he had eight legs.

-"I _must_ be dead because why else would the handsome God Balder come to take me to the hall of Valhalla?"*-Hall of the Slain in Norse mythology. Balder is the Norse God of beauty who was killed accidentally killed by his own brother by Loki's mischief.


	7. Robe of a Bride

**Last chapter was really short, sorry guys! I'll make it up to you though with this lonnnng chapter! **

**Also, I have a few questions for you, the readers. I know a lot of you like the myth tidbits, and that makes me happy that you do! But, do any of you mind if, for the characters speech, I make it kinda' more 'Olden' time talk. Not like, you know, 'Tether to my heart, and swoon like a dove over yonder yadda' yadda' yadda!' But like, a bit more qualitative to the time frame? Also thank you to **MalinChan**, **yotzie **and **Ruusu **for being my awesome Swedish/Finnish translators! Much love to you guys! **

*****Is there anyone out there who would like to be my Danish translator? Come on—I know you awesome and beautiful Danes read this story too! Please?**

**FEED MEH REVIEWS OR THE DOLPHINS WILL HAVE MAH HEAD! **

…**...**

Tino groaned. All around his eyes was a soft light that dribbled down before him, like butterfly's wings that embraced him slowly. It was a golden and hazy light, like the color of Idun's youthful apples.* It steadily grew and fell like the rising sea as it breathed. It was beautiful—But...

It surely meant that Tino was in the land of the dead. Whether he ended up in the damp clutches of Hel or the hall of the slain in Valhalla, Tino did not know.* The only thing that he _could_ recall, was that he was buried in a billowy warmth and that his hands were wrapped around something solid and fleshy and vibrating heat like a summer rainstorm. Tino sighed with tepid tranquility as he sunk his head deeper into the softness that he seemed to be clinging to with all his mustered strength.

He was about to drift back into the sensation of the golden light that swarmed around him when he felt the warmth around him shift. It was like a low hiss of cloth being rattled and it made the Finn pause. The sound began to grow and the light around him began to cascade into brightness—as if the blinding beams were being pressed near him, above him and all around him. Tino moaned, the sensation of the lights too much for his throbbing head.

Lulling his head to the side his forehead immediately pressed tightly against something burning hot. In an instant Tino jerked his head back from fright, his eyes fluttering open, stiff and weighty—like a butterfly struggling to take flight.

In an instant he felt a sharp pain hit his head like lightning. The luminosity from the lights slithering against his opened eyes. Oh damn the God's it was bright! Tino let out a strangled groan as his eye sight spotted into shades of red and orange, purple and blue. He bit his lip and shut his eyes tight. The young Finn reeled his head back and gasped into the damnable warm air, feeling his fingers dig into something soft and fleshy—a limb of an arm perhaps, Tino couldn't be sure.

But before he could even think more upon the burning hot feeling that was pressing against his skin, a hand with thin long fingers lightly dragged themselves over Tino's shoulder blades, making the Finn shiver when he realized that his tunic had been stripped of his body.

Relying on his closed sight to help him, he breathed in through his nose and jerked his chin up when he felt those smooth and long fingers cascade down to cup themselves under his chin. The Finn's breath slid out of his throat, his eyes softening, the clenching from keeping them shut waning some.

But it was when something hard and blistery was placed on the edges of his lips that the Finn shied and tried to turn his head away. But then, those long fingers that felt so good on his skin, lightly pressed into his jaw, massaging the side of his cheeks and under his chin to get the Finn to open his mouth, as if he was some sick and frightened animal that needed to take his medicine.

But Tino, always the stubborn one, gritted his teeth together and pursed his lips, his eyes stinging.

A low gruff of a sigh was heard in front of the Finn and the fingers that were gently pressed into his jaw paused. Then, slowly, the smooth and glassy edge of the item that was pressed near the Finn's lip disappeared. Tino, thinking he had won, let his smile take over his face, his head lulling backward again, shoulders nuzzling into the warm comfy fluff of something that reminded him of sheep skins—warm and soft.

But, the poor Finn was mistaking, for as soon as he smiled, those patient yet stubborn fingers once again began to massage along his jaw and throat, making his mouth slide open with a jolt.

Tino groaned and tried to pull his neck back, but he felt another set of fingers press lightly onto his bare chest, keeping him still. The Finn growled as he felt the glazed smooth object slide along his mouth once more, dribbling something hot and liquid into his forced open mouth.

Tino coughed.

The liquid was soothing and sticky as it went down his throat, and the Finn immediately recognized the sickly sweet taste of it as it slid past his lips to dance along his tongue.

It was a mixture of dried willow bark and camomile buds, sweetened with a good dollop of honey, Tino's favorite. The milky liquid swam past his throat, those smooth fingers helping to keep the Finn's chin up so that the tea would not spill out from his sore lips and onto his body, resulting in a nasty burn.

After Tino was sure he had as much of the sweet smelling drought as he could swallow in one gulp, he pressed his hands onto either side of the billowy warmth that was probably a pile of sheep skins and blankets, his right hand not letting go of the warm skinned arm that created a sure link to the mortal world if he was indeed dead. The rim of what he was sure was a cup, was taken away fro his lips, allowing him to swallow the grainy and warm mixture of herbal tea.

But, as his headache calmed as his breathing began to flutter back to normal, he began to reason that he was not dead like he originally though, but probably in a medical hut a ways away in the Swede's war camp. The realistic taste from the tea against his bruised and chapped lips only furthered his theory. For why would the Gods wait and revive a poor lost soul who had fallen from the land of Midgard? Even Thor himself, kind to many peasants and farmers, was not _that_ kind to the poor mortals that roamed the middle worlds...*

Tino sighed out bitterly as the mug of soothing liquid was pulled away from his lips, his headache steadily feeling better and better, the throbbing sensation all but melting away with the herbal tea. No, he was not dead. He had not been left to be ripped to shreds by the dead that lay underneath the dank and dark misty lands of Niflheim.* He was probably snuggled in a warm cot being taken care of by Nikolas—for who else would know to give the Finn the sugary sweet tea to cure his raging headache?

Tino sighed once more, feeling a hand help to prop him up higher onto the bed and into a pile of pleated pillows stuffed with goose feathers. Tino snuggled himself deeper into the den of bedding, smelling the sour stench of meat cooking over a roasting fire a few ways away, the smell drifting in from the open flaps of the hut that he was currently in.

The scent immediately stirred something in him, something like ravage hunger as if he was a wolf that hadn't eaten in days. With a lick of his dry lips he heard his belly gurgle out with repressed hunger. Oh what he wouldn't do for a little bit of warm mead and some juicy marrow to suck from the bone...!

Hearing his roaring tummy give out another growling demand of food, the Finn raised his head and placed his left hand on his forehead, pressing an ample amount of pressure to calm his sore aching neck and head. If only he could just crack his bruised mouth open to speak, to communicate that he was hungry, sore, and tired and wanted nothing more than a full belly and a fortnight of sleep.

The lightheaded Finn fluttered his eyesight open, expecting to see Nikolas' disapproving gaze bore into his hazy eyes. He wanted to call out to someone, to ask where he was, if he was indeed alive, and where he could get some damn food! He was about to speak with hoarse breath when his eyes, which were expecting to see the dull gaze of the Norwegian, widened like the moon.

What he certainly did _not_ expect, was to see a deep frown like the grooves in a valley and impossibly impending eyes that glared a sharp teal sea green, making the Finn gasp and squeak with fright. Sitting on his bed, his long and muscular legs tucked near the edge of the bed, sat Berwald, his deep set eyes giving off an almost worried hue as he stared into Tino.

Tino, suddenly not liking the giants glare all that much, quickly tucked the blankets over to his chin before realizing that his hand was still gripping into something scalding hot. Dead confusion wrought around his face like heavy irons before his glassy eyes caught the long limb of Berwald, clutched between the Finn's own hands.

Giving off a tiny squeak like a mouse, Tino, with a quick jolt of his fingers, pulled his fingers off of the Swede's bare arm to slide his hands to his chest as if he were hugging himself like a child sickened by the sound of thunderstorms.

"Wh-What? Why are _you_ here? Where is Nikolas, where is my cousin? And why on earth am I holding your arm?" Tino squawked, his eyes painfully drinking in the sight of the Swede's bare chest, the bare chest that he must have imagined when he was about to fall off the old horse.

The face that bore into his simply made another gruff noise before setting down the cup of steaming tea, Tino's eyes following him like a rabbits careful stare, deciding whether to bolt or not. Then, when the empty cup had been joined onto the low lipped wooden table with an array of freshly lit candles, Berwald, returning his hand to his lap, simply grumbled out an answer.

"Wh'n ya' hit yer head on th' h'rse, ya' blacked out... I c'rried ya inside th' t'nt. Was about ta' leave ya' ta' sleep, but ya' wouldn't let go of m' arm... kept sayin' I was Balder..." Berwald murmured quietly, his cheeks dizzying with a blush of red. Tino swallowed thickly before wrapped his arms around himself, his mouth feeling too dry, his face feeling too hot.

So he had mistaken the bare body of the Swede for Odin's gentle and handsome dead son... Tino shut his eye tight and fought back the wail of embarrassment that threatened to spill from his lips. Oh he would never live this down! He would never be able to live with himself let alone look at the Swede again without remembering his heated and lusty thoughts! But it was the Swedes muffled and guttered voice that brought Tino's attention back to reality and not on the prospect of ringing his own Finnish neck with a damn pillow case.

"Nikolas 's w'th Peter. He t'ld meh ta' look aft'r you, said ya' had an awful headache..." The Giant Swede murmured, his eye brows knitting over the worried lines on his face. The Swede then ran his hands over the tables surface to take out a low lipped dish pooled with cool water and a clean rag.

The Swede, not so sure that the Finn would like him touching him at this point seeing as how there relationship was still strained, handed the cloth to the Finn. Tino swallowed stiffly before his hands, fumbling, snatched at the cloth and pressed it to his cheeks and jaw, the water slipping down his neck, calming his angry blood some.

But then his mind began to wander as the cool liquid beaded at his skin like morning dew, and soon his eyes fluttered wide, his pain stricken ears catching the first of the giants words as his mind tried to recollect what had happened before he obviously blacked out.

"Oh my Gods!" Tino shouted wildly, his eyes flying open as if he had just been stung by a horsefly's cruel nettle.

"Peter! I forgot about Peter!" Tino shrieked with worry, his voice still sore, eyes indescribably wide. Instantly the Finn threw the flaxen blankets off of his chest and began to wrap the coarse and bristly hide of a reindeer pelt over his midsection, noticing with heated annoyance that he was once again naked in the vikings presence.

With raging breath he then began stumbling around in the confines of the sheep skins and sour smelling flax blankets. The Finn staggered as his feet dangled off the bed, his mouth parting to let out a low hiss as his legs began to stiffen with pain at the abrupt movement that he had just put his body through. But, his bodies health was of no importance to him now, not when the young Swede's son—no. Not when _his_ son was suffering from such a contagious and powerfully stricken illness. Tino could not live with himself if the child died. He just couldn't.

But before the stubbornly set Finn could comb his feet off the bed with his gangly and still weak legs, he felt an arm hold him back. With a gruff grunt Berwald had snagged his hands against the Finn's bare waist and gently but firmly sat him back down, his elbows skidding against the bedding softly before the Finn locked eyes with the giant of a man. Tino's gaze showed thawed anger and desperation, his voice thick and weighty.

"Let me go! You don't understand! Peter's in trouble! His illness—his illness!" Tino growled out, trying to thrust his body up and out of the man's bear like grip.

"-His illness, is under control." Came a quiet and slightly amused voice.

Tino whirled his head around, his eyes as wide as the wheels on Thor's mighty chariot.* The Finn's heated and desperate gaze caught sight of Nikolas, just as the young Norwegian had pulled the flaps open from the Swedish vikings tent, his eyes a good deal more brighter then they were before. This only puzzled the Finn more.

Tino shrugged his shoulders up, giving a small half heartened glare in the Swedish man's direction before he tried to sit bolt upright, only resulting in Berwald frowning and holding him down tighter. Tino's back was pressed into the bedding as if he was a mad man being held down with cinches and restraints. Tino bit his lip and looked back up to Nikolas again, his bare shoulders shivering slightly from the cold air that was let in when his cousin unhinged the tent flaps. Already Tino could see that night had reigned over the land, as not a single speck of light save from torches outside was shining, even the stars themselves were strained with their twinkling.

"What do you mean? That child's illness could not be 'under control'! He was sniffling and coughing when I was with him! He has marks of red on his stomach! What trickery are you pulling over my eyes Nikolas?" Tino huffed, feeling the little bit of composure that he had slip away, refilling his body with confused desperation.

Nikolas smiled once more, a quick upturning of lips that made his pale face seem more healthy, more human. It made Tino close his eyes to thin slits.

"I mean, dear cousin, that the child will live if he is properly taken care of from now on." Nikolas breathed, sitting himself down on the other side of Tino. Tino swallowed harshly before flickering his gaze to the Swede, making Berwald take notice. The man, seeing that the Finn was wriggling under his touch, lightly brought his hands away from Tino, giving him as much space as he could while still sitting next to him.

Tino thanked the man by dissolving his glare from his pale face. Yet, his eyebrows still furrowed, he couldn't help but not take the Norwegians words to heart.

"Are you to tell me that the scars have all heaved off his body? That his nose that runs like the great river Iving has suddenly stopped? That his chest, so burdened with sour breath and heaving with strained life is now fit to run a mile without sweat breaking across his brow?"* Tino asked disbelievingly, his arms folded over his chest, his eyes entrusting.

Nikolas let a small nick weave it's way into his smile, the mirth in his eyes waning some.

"I did not say that. What I meant was that his outbreak had occurred just recently. There is time to cure the disease. Though his combined illnesses, the diarrhea, sore throat, sneezing—that will all take a toll on his body— but he is still not that bested in strength. He has his fathers stamina and his mothers stubbornness." Nikolas spoke with a soft tongue, his eyes slightly teasing.

Tino's face blushed into a healthy shade of pink, his knuckles turning white as they gripped and grappled at the bedding curled around him.

Though he couldn't say he liked the insult much, it at least proved that Nikolas had high hopes for the boy. The Norwegian never joked during serious matters, especially something as serious as the possible death of the Swede's son.

"So then you have checked up on him? You have made sure he has not suffered much?" Tino asked with bated breath. The corner of his eyes caught the movement of the Swede as he sat up from the bed, the hay stuffed mattress giving out a heavy groan from the shifting of weight.

Tino looked up at the man with his eyes, following him as the Swede made his way to the table littered with maps, setting himself down in a chair softened with a rabbit skin. Tino could safely say the tension from the man's eyes dropped considerably, his hands relaxed against his—still bare chest—Tino realized with embarrassment. The Finn, with a blush painted on his face, flickered his gaze over to his cousin again to stop his damnable gawking eyes.

"I have checked on him. While you were unconscious due to your own stupidity," Nikolas paused to give Tino a disapproving look which made the Finn squirm. "I gave him a bath and dressed him in a fresh pair of clothes. I also gave him some crushed apples and grapes to curve his hunger and dressed his scars with a mustard seed paste that should help to keep the fungus at bay."* Nikolas finished, his hands resting on Tino's bed spread, gripping the fingers of the Finn and giving them a tight, reassuring squeeze.

"F'ngus? L'ke a mushroom...?" A grumbled voice broke into the silence. Tino lifted up his gaze to stare at the man who was wearing a confused look, his sea green eyes clouded with a misty veil of puzzlement.

Tino took a few hesitant breathes before he dared talk, feeling a bit more then self conscious at looking the giant man in the face when he had so easily mistaken him for a damn _God_ not but a few—what? A few hours ago, a few days ago? How long had he been out? He silently wondered.

"Not a mushroom...More like a bit of small moss, or like the sliver of a thorn. Something so small that not even a hawk from a low distance can see with his sharp eyes..." Tino explained as best as he could, his knowledge of such things only being able to go so far.

But Berwald seemed to understand, at least, the puzzlement from his eyes seemed to lift and he nodded slowly. Tino, feeling relieved that he didn't have to go into great medical detail about the very nature of Peter's illness sighed with relief before turning his attention back to Nikolas when he felt the Norwegian squeeze his fingers again reassuringly.

"It will take some time, but I know that with a bit of work and love you will nurture that boy back to health." Nikolas murmured, his gaze set on Tino's eyes. The Finn downcast his gaze, his heart steadily beating in his chest before he nodded. He knew that he could heal the sick child. Now that he knew exactly what ailed him, he was sure he could bring him back to perfect health in no time. But it was mixture of ailments that worried him the most. Even now that the ringworm was not deemed as vicious and deadly as they once assumed before—with the combination of all his illnesses, his sore throat, sniffling, couching and diarrhea, it may prove to be a strenuous task to heal the small boy.

Peter would have to be put on an all fruit diet for the next five days to flush out the ringworm, but that would only make the child's stomach aches worse. Also he wouldn't be permitted to have tea as that would dehydrate him—but that would also mean that his sore throat would just get drier and drier, worse and worse. Tino bit his lip and began to worry again. Peter would need to be bathed twice a day to help stop the itching and the spread of the rash on his skin. But who would be the one to bathe him? Tino knew his disease was contagious—but. Well, he wouldn't mind risking his own health to help the child. Berwald certainly couldn't be expected to do it, as he had troops to order, battle plans to go over, and fighting to oversee. Tino couldn't ask the man to risk his wellness when he had a whole army to command. No, Tino would just have to do it himself!

Nodding to himself he then turned to Berwald with a quick nudge of his head, his eyes neutral if not a bit hopeful.

Berwald looked up silently, his worried expression melting slightly, shoulders still hunched into his body as if he was trying to melt into the warming air of the hut.

"Berwald, I...I want to apologize for not finding the cause of Peter's illness sooner. I know I must have caused you a lot of worry and pain. I'm sorry, but, if you'll still let me... I'd like to keep trying to heal Peter, please?" Tino asked, his voice soft and pleading, a new tone of voice that he thought he would never talk to a viking with. But damn if he cared more for Peter than his own pride.

Berwald blinked slowly before a small and softly spoken smile slipped onto his lips. His usually stone cold stare warmed up and he nodded.

"I'd w'nt no other person lookin' after m' son th'n you, T'no..." Berwald murmured, his breath a quiet whisper. Tino let a small smile peek onto his lips before he thanked the older man with a nod.

Then, turning back to Nikolas, he gripped the bedding between his fingers as if he had a very weighty and intrusive question in the back of his mind.

Nikolas saw the flicker and glimmer of something swim behind the Finn's eyes and he let his cousin's fingers go with a shushed slip of his hands.

The Norwegian, with a slow blink, stared at Tino, biding the Finn to ask the question that seemed to be biting at his tongue like a bees sting.

"Ah...Nikolas, does that mean I can see the child? Does that mean he is well enough for me to talk to him—to say hello?" Tino asked with a quick jumble of words, his voice breathless with hope.

Nikolas smiled softly before patting Tino's hand.

"No. Of course not." Nikolas' smile never left his taunting lips, making the Finn pout out with stubbornness.

"That's not fair! I'm the one that has been sent here to heal him! I should be able to oversee him as well!" Tino reasoned, his voice feeling hotter in his throat, his headache already disappearing from his forehead, only leaving his jaw and legs somewhat sore.

"It is fair. The child is resting. If though, your headache goes down enough and your ego does not swell again, then tomorrow you may resume your duties as healer to him." Nikolas said, lightly sitting up from the bed, the flaxen and dully dyed blankets making a hushed crinkling noise as he sat up.

"I _am_ better!" Tino insisted, sitting up and scooting down the bed, the blankets tucking over his slender waist to hide his bashful nudity. He _was_ still in the presence of the viking, and he would do everything in his power to hide his body from such a man. Gentle or not. Berwald was still a viking—he could still not be totally trusted.

Nikolas looked up at Tino as if the Finn had just made a childish statement. He sighed and turned his attention back to his bright eyed cousin, the many candles poised in the room setting off a hue-ish glow that made his once sickly face blush with healthy warmth. Nikolas stared into his cousin's eyes and shrugged, allowing the Finn to defend his health. For, the way Tino saw it, the quicker he explained _himself_ in good strengths, the quicker he could attend to the needs of Peter. And Peter was more important than anything at the moment. Tino would rather spend a day in the Hall of Eljudnir, home of the dead, then jeopardize the small British boys health for another minute.

"Just a few more cups of that tea and some ice wrapped in cloth for my jaw and I'll be as strong as the sun on Midsummer's morning!"* Tino assured his cousin with begging breath, as if he was asking Nikolas for the moon and the stars above and not for his cousin to take his words truthfully.

But, finally, with a slow sigh of breath that almost made Tino loose hope, the dull eyed Norsemen finally let a small smile grace his lips.

"You are of good health?" He asked his cousin once more, his voice suspicious, if not a bit disbelieving. Tino nodded swiftly, like a child hanging on the promise of a sweet honeyed barley cake. The Finn held his breath as he watched his cousin walk around the hut with gentle care, pausing by the row of candles before he brought his hands to a select few and blew them out, making the tent just a tab bit darker then before.

Nikolas made a small flick of his eyes to Berwald, watching the Swede that had suddenly turned into a silent shadow in the room, Tino even forgetting that the man was in his presence. Well, if the Swedish leader of the Northern Lions tribe didn't have a quit tongue! _Perhaps Mathias should learn from the Swedish giant._ Tino thought with annoyance, then at least the damn Dane would let Tino's bleeding ears rest for a bit from the mans sharp tongue...

"If you are of good heath as you promise," Nikolas began before Tino interrupted him, his eyes widening.

"I am! Oh I am dear cousin! I feel as strong as a King Stag! I feel as powerful as Thor himself! Oh please let me resume my duties as healer. I so wish to help Peter! If only I could keep that child from the clutches of Hel, then I'd be a happy man." Tino assured his cousin, his voice never missing a beat, never touching a quiver or a tremor.

Berwald himself was surprised by the eagerness in his little Brides voice. Perhaps Tino was not just looking for fame or to prove himself an excellent healer. It seemed to the giant Swede that the Finn cared just as much for Peters health as Berwald himself! It was a comforting thought and it made the giant Swede love his bride more than ever! To think that the young Finn was taking to Peter as if the boy was his own son of flesh and blood. Berwald smiled, a slow upturning of lips that turned into a quiet chuckle when he heard the Finn begging with his cousin to let him have another chance at healing the young lad.

Tino, hearing a low chuckle from the corner of the room turned to Berwald with glassy eyes, his face tinting a sharp pink. Thinking it best to ignore the hulking man, he turned back to desperately trying to persuade Nikolas. The giant Swede could wait, Tino had more important things at hand.

The Norwegian was tapping his pale and thin finger to his lips, as if deep in thought, earning a frustrated groan from the Finn who threw up his hands in the air.

"Nikolas! I am well! I am in perfect health! I would dance around the room if I was not stripped of my clothes!" Tino hissed out bitterly, knowing full well that his quiet yet devious cousin had something to do with his lack of wearing a proper trouser and tunic. Nikolas' face remained neutral, not giving anything away as he pondered the Finn's words.

Berwald just sat stiffly, watching intently, sinking into his chair, thinking with a bit of flitted humor that his wife could be just too adorable when he set his heart on something. He only hoped he could see his little wife's adorably stubborn face more often.

"Well, since you claim to be so healthy, I don't see why you can't resume your duties. As of tomorrow I will allow you to be Peter's one and only healer. You may use any method of medicine you deem fit. I am sure that the young boy of the Swede's tribe will be healed fairly soon." Nikolas smiled down at his cousin.

Tino's eyes widened with a quick flash, like a full moon on harvest night before the clouds wash it away from the sky. The Finn was so giddy he could hardly speak let alone thank his cousin. Instead he just settled for hopping up and down in the mattress bed, hearing an amused chuckle from behind him break his happy moment.

Tino turned his head to see the bearish leader of the Swede's laughing, covering his mouth with his hands to stifle his mirth. Tino narrowed his eyes stubbornly before letting a small giggle escape his lips himself, resuming to bounce on his warming legs, his smile too wide to be diminished at this point. Or so he thought...

"Also, since you seem to be in such high spirits, I am sure you will grace us all with your presence tonight at the feast tonight! Since you claim to be in such good health after all..." Nikolas let his words drawl as he stared at Tino with a forming glint in his eye, leaving the Finn no room to roughly object as his voice spoke again, this time more firmly.

"Well then that settles it. You will be attending the feast that has been made in your honor! No buts about it—unless your strength is too feeble. If that's the case then I guess you shan't be looking after Peter either... " Nikolas smirked, his dull eyes misting back to their usual calm and opaque stare while his devious and cruel smile fitted over his lips, making Tino's heart sink.

"_What_? The Finn finally hissed, his voice vibrating over the heavy and pungent skins of the tent, sounding like an angry snake. Berwald sat up from his chair to rub the back of his head, his eyes growing back to that simple sheepish boyish glaze. He coughed.

"Ya' ran into th' tent's wh'n ya' f'rst got here, so we had ta' postpone it..." Berwald mumbled out in an explanation, his voice a twinge bit sad. Tino looked up at the giant and then back at Nikolas, a solid glare smacked onto his features.

"This...This feast...It has been planned before my arrival?" Tino snapped, his eyes getting a tad bit irritable. He gritted his teeth and tried to calm himself, tried to dispense some of the tension from between his eyes before he lost his nerve again. He had worked so hard to get rid of some of the anger from this damnable 'wife' situation, but now it only seemed to be coming back to bite him in the ass. Sometimes he felt like the Gods were just toying with him for their own amusement. Tino grumbled bitterly.

"It was a w'lcome feast... Fer' you..." Berwald tried to explain while Tino tried to listen. But the Finnish man was having a hard time hearing what the bigger man said, as his mind kept grating back to this morning when he was greeted by all those people, bearing gifts and love charms.

Sure, the villagers had shown themselves nice—a little too nice for comfort though. Tino was a total stranger yet they enveloped him and cherished him like he was a damn sign from Asgard itself!*

Tino bit his lip, remembering what Nikolas had said about his experience, about how he was heartily welcomed by people he would rather not have associated himself with. But the Danes had taken care of him, and now the Norwegian seemed to like them as if he was Danish _himself_... Quite a scary thought if you asked Tino.

It wasn't like he wasn't good with people. He liked crowds. He was a very social person—but only when he knew the people in _said_ crowd. A hoard of Swedish and Danish vikings that only a few days ago had ransacked your home and dragged you off to only the Gods know _where_ tends to strain a persons friendly qualities—Tino being no exception. But he would bite the blade and just listen, hopefully Berwald's words would take some of the venom out of the situation that it seemed the Finn was going to be forced into.

"In a war c'mp, there's not much room fer' happiness. Before ya' c'me we were all d'straught. We had been fightin' a war fer three years th't didn't seem ta' be endin'..." Berwald's voice grew slow, his clipped sentences fading with the sorrow filled breath of his voice.

"But..." His head lifted as he looked to Tino, his river-stone glare softening, allowing Tino to actually stare back unafraid by the man's icy teal eyes.

"Wh'n news of yer arrival c'me... Everyone's sp'rits p'cked up. Just yer n'me bein' m'ntioned brought a sm'le on every man, w'men, an' babes face... The v'llagers h've seen nothin' but disaster..." Berwald looked up with attentive eyes. His hands were rested in between his legs, elbows propped up on his knees as if he was a king, about to make a grave decision that could risk all of his soldiers lives _or_ win the war. Tino swallowed thickly.

"But wh'n you c'me, all th'y saw was n'w found hope..." Berwald murmured, his eyes unblinking, gaze heaving a breath of it's own, as if it was not a part of Berwald but something separate. Something that held the man's heart and mind in his eyes. Tino didn't know if it was the man's words, the tone in his voice, or the fact that the big bearish viking looked like he was about to cry, but Tino slid his eyes shut and nodded.

"Alright. I'll attend the feast. If only to raise the villagers morale." Tino spoke softly, his voice thickening, betraying his act for calmness. He sighed, a slow sucking of breath, tasting the warm Swedish air that danced along his skin. He was doing this for the villagers as well as for his own selfish benefit. For if he refused to attend the feast he was more than certain that Nikolas would take away his privileges at healing Peter, claiming that it would either be 'join the people at the feast', or 'lose critical ground on your patient'. Tino sighed, knowing that Nikolas could be that cruel.

Berwald's eyes seemed to melt into a sudden kindness, like a candle melting on a hot summer day. The giant sat up in his seat, pressing his hands to the table that was draped with the great big map, his torso heaving up and down with great heaves of breath. Tino bit his lip and did his best to not look at the bare chested man but to instead focus on the situation. He was about to attend a feast—a great gathering of the best vikings in Scandinavia— a feast that was dedicated to himself. He was to act as if being the bride of the great brute looking Swede didn't bother him in the slightest. He might as well wear brown trousers just in case he shit himself. He sighed out fearfully.

Nikolas too was smiling, proud that his cousin had put his own pride, fear, and comforts aside and acted maturely with his answer if not a bit stubbornly. He never knew his younger cousin could act so diplomatically. If only he knew it would last with this new request the Norwegian had in store.

"Wonderful!" The Norsemen clapped his hands together, making Tino jolt a bit from his seated position on the bed, his legs all but tangled in the haphazardly placed bedding.

"If you'll just leave me to change, I'll be ready in a few minutes..." Tino mumbled, already sticking his legs out from under the bed, his feet touching the icy dirt floor of the hut, his toes squishing in the dust. _Even the land here feels different..._ Tino thought with a twinge of bitterness, already missing the lake drenched soil of Finland.

"Oh no my young cousin, you will be assisted with dressing yourself." Nikolas breathed, placing his hands on a low set trunk that was excellently made. The wood was flushed dark—as if it had been stained with oils and boiled sap. It glimmered and glowed in the candle light.

Tino frowned. "Am I not but too old to have a wet nurse dress me? Am I not too much of a man to let silly handmaidens flutter about me with woven tunic and breeches as they gossip like squawking birds?" Tino asked with confusion, his eyes watching Nikolas carefully.

Berwald's eyes were also fixed on the Norwegian, but, to Tino's frustration, his look was one of waiting anticipation, while Tino's was one of complete confusion. Tino did not like situations that made him confused. They usually did not turn out in his favor.

Small spirals and clinging ropes that were fashioned into runes—as was the style of the famed vikings—etched themselves with delicate strife on the dark and heavy smelling wood. Portraits of a silly little boar carved with flecks of gold stubble smeared onto the wood, the bent figure of a woman riding the poor little animal half to death. Tino recognized it as the beautiful Goddess Freyja ridding atop her golden boar Gullinbursti.* Tino suddenly did not like the look of the chest—it looked like it belonged to that of a promised woman, as it was furnished with flakes of red gold and abalone—much too feminine for his tastes. Tino slowly slid as far away from the chest as he could while still covering himself with the bed blankets.

Something told him he did not want to get too close to whatever was inside it.

The locks clinked under Nikolas' fingers as the man, his hair tucked to the side with the help of a bone clip, pressed his fingers to the wood almost lovingly. The man looked as if the chest brought back many memories of known knowledge, some good some bad. Tino swallowed harshly.

Nikolas swam his hands over the trunk and, with a gaze of permission from Berwald, Nikolas unlatched the simple two hole lock on the trunk before creaking the lid open with steady hands.

Tino did not like the smile on his cousin's face as he pulled a long and swaddled bundle of clothing, the thin sheets of woven flax bleached a snow white, the smells of musty perfume and stale dust wafting from the cloth. Tino eyed the thing curiously, wondering with puzzlement why he heard the clinking of metal as Nikolas laid the bundle on the bed at Tino's covered toes.

Berwald coughed awkwardly into the silence, catching the attention of both the younger boys.

"Ah, Berwald, I am sorry. Would you rather wait outside the hut for Tino? I only wish to explain to him the nature of this gift before you take him to the spring to clean up." Nikolas asked the giant who had started to walk towards the opening flaps, his hands wedged into the boar and deer skins that made up the thick walls of the spacious hut.

"Wait! Springs? I am to bathe in a hot spring? In a...In a Viking's presence?" Tino nearly cried out, his face as fiery as the burning leaves on a Valborg night.* Nikolas only nodded curtly, Berwald's face growing a streaming red at the news as well.

"It only proves to make sense." Nikolas reasoned, busying himself with carefully unwrapping the bundle of flax. He looped his fingers through a green dyed cord, the rope making a movement like a snake as Nikolas handled it with steady hands.

Tino's mouth snapped open as he stared at his cousin with bitter disbelief.

"'Make sense'? '_Make sense'_? Make sense out of _what?_! I will not be bathing in the same spring as a Viking! Not even if he _is_ to be my husband!" Tino hissed out, his hands clenching at his sides, fingers biting into his palms, leaving small crescent shaped scars that would fade soon.

Berwald, blushing from ear to ear now, couldn't help but pause that mention of the word 'husband'. Husband? Did that mean that Tino was really warming up to the idea—to the possibility of wedding Berwald? Oh dear Gods the Swedish man hoped so. He didn't know how long his damn bearish heart could last. He knew it would take a good amount of time for the Finn to come around, but already it sounded like he was making progress. Berwald made a silent prayer to the Goddess's of fate that his love for the Finn would prevail—if not, well then. Berwald wouldn't know what to do with himself, his impenetrable Viking heart would simply crack in two...

Tino couldn't even begin to stomach what his cousin had just suggested! No matter what explanation the Norwegian would give Tino there was no way it would ever make even an ounce of sense!

"You need to have Berwald help bathe you because—one. You do not know where the springs are, unless of course you would like me to call one of the Danes to help you find your way instead?" Nikolas eyed Tino warningly. Tino's eyes widened and his mouth shut closed, his head shaking back and forth in a silent 'no—oh Gods no!' movement.

Berwald himself bristled at such a suggestion. No one—be they Dane or Swede—would ever get such a chance to see his sweet little bride bathing. Berwald could barely stand the attention the small Finn was already getting from the heavy population of men in the war camp. Maybe it was just petty jealously, but Berwald couldn't stomach the thought of another man witnessing such a privileged and rare sight as a bare and water soaked body of the Finn. Berwald shut his eyes tight. No, definitely not. Only he, Tino's husband, would be granted with such a beautiful sight—of course, that is, if Tino obliged to his company. Oh dear Gods Berwald hoped so.

Nikolas smiled, addressing the Finn's horror filled gaze at the thought of a Danish viking bathing him. He could just imagine the man's leering and jesting hands touching his bare skin. Tino shuddered with disgust.

"No? I didn't think so. Secondly, you have been in close contact with Peter these past few hours, which means you might have caught his disease. Therefor you have to scrub yourself thoroughly—but you will need someone to wash your back clean as well—hence Berwald assisting you. Another reason why you need Berwald to aid you—we are in a war camp. The Russians could be lurking around in the bushes at any time. Having Berwald around gives you some protection while you're bathing, lowering the chances of you getting your throat slit while you scrub where the sun doesn't shine." Nikolas retorted seriously before going back to unfolding the 'gift' from it's wrappings.

Oh.

_ Well, when put like that..._ Tino suddenly shook his head. No! No! No! He just couldn't do it! Sleeping naked in a bed with the man for _one night_ was bad enough—but now _bathing_ with him? Oh no, that was just drawing a line that Tino had no desire to cross.

Tino shook his head stubbornly and crossed his arms over his chest, as if they were a big hulking pile of chains that had been locked over his body.

"Well. It's either that or you risk your skin getting those itchy little brick red marks and resulting in you being sent to a sick bed. Then how would you help Peter then when you yourself would be scratching your skin from dawn till dusk?" Nikolas asked coldly and a bit judgmentally—finally unwrapping all of the green dyed cord from the bundles.

Tino pouted sourly, his brow furrowed. Damn Nikolas knew exactly how to get his trousers in a twist! But...Oh Tino just couldn't bare the thought of showing his bare body to the Swedish viking—even if said viking's body was a bit of a treat to look at in itself. Tino bit his lip and wailed silently in his head. How could he be expected to strip in front of a man that he could barely even face shirtless without stuttering and blushing like a virgin maiden on her wedding night?

"If ya' w'nt... I won't go in w'th ya... I bathed in th' creek w'th the soldiers wh'le ya' were asleep... I don't need a b'th... I'll just wash yer' b'ck fer' ya'. I won't even look. I pr'm'se..." Berwald offered, his clipped words a bit sheepish, his usually harsh tone of voice sounding a bit more abashed than usual.

Tino, his eyes sliding over to the man, blinked with misty confusion. Berwald was offering to spare Tino's dignity as best as he could? To promise to not ruin the Finn's chastity with leering eyes and hungry touches? Tino let a weak quiver of a kind and thankful smile poise itself on his lips.

"You are like no Viking I have ever met..." Tino muttered under his breath, making the Swede's eyes softened.

"I was raised r'ght. Told never ta' look at a pr'tty th'ng w'th soiled int'nt." Berwald said, his voice sounding a bit more courage filled as he made his way over to a sunken chest that was halfway under the bed. Tino, blushing at the man's words, watched with careful eyes as the man yanked the chest from under the bed and flipped it up with a strong flick of his wrists, his glass framed eyes searching for something feverishly. Then, when he seemed to find the specific item he was looking, he pulled it out with a thrust of his hands and struggled a fat wad of a blanket underneath his arms before placing a another cloth over his head till the fabric of a dark blue tunic clothed his bare chest to Tino's hearts relief. Another minute of the Swede walking around half naked in the hut and Tino might have had a heart attack, perfect health or not.

"Well, will you brave the humiliation?" Nikolas asked, his voice a tad bit more mocking than the little Finn was used to.

Tino shrugged his shoulders with strife before he let out a winding sigh that shook his body. Finally, with hostile and a bit frightful eyes, he nodded. If Berwald was offering to keep chaste and not sink his gaze into his naked body...Well, then. Tino could bare the mortification, if only this one time...

"Yes. I suppose I have no choice." He reasoned, sitting himself up till his legs dangled off the bed, his feet kicking into the packed dirt once more.

"I'll leave ya' ta dr'ss. Be waitin' outs'de.." Berwald rumbled, ducking his head under the flaps, tying the decorative cords that dangled from his festival tunic as he went. Tino sighed as he watched the man go, furrowing his brow to try to see out into the winding darkness that seemed to flank the spacious hut at all sides.

"So, what's this 'gift' you have for me?" Tino asked, his eyes sliding back to Nikolas who was heaving the hefty cloth of something an ivory white and light blue. Tino would rather not discuss the topic of bathing any further. He didn't think his poor red stricken face could handle even a minute more of the dreadful thought of bathing in the same space as Berwald, the shame of it all much too great.

Tino's thought's were soon cut off by the slithering sound of cloth that vibrated into his ears. His eyes widened when he recognized the shape of either something resembling a very, very, _very_ long tunic, or a very, very, _very_ feminine robe. Tino's eyes widened as his vision settled on the more horrible prospect of the two.

"_A dress?_" Tino hissed out as Nikolas held up the shapely form of a warm and flaxen fixed frock.

"It is not a dress." Nikolas breathed out irritably, his hands smoothing over the material, making a caressing movement as his fingers cleaved against the woven material of the thing.

"It's a robe. Like the one I am wearing now." Nikolas explained with bland interest, his fingers pointing to his own richly dressed clothing. The form fitting robe that was wrapped at Nikolas' shoulders swayed down to the Norwegian's goat hide slipper feet, his dainty hands moving to untie the velvety cords that dangled tauntingly at his throat.

Tino watched as the Norwegian tugged at the cord, resulting in the fashioned knot falling to pieces, revealing a beautifully stitched and decorated tunic of a deep and luscious blue, like the dark depths of the ocean after a raging storm.

Tino frowned as the Norwegian tied the cords back at his pale throat, the tunic being covered by the velvety skin of the robe.

"It looks like a dress to me." Tino mumbled out sourly, crossing his arms once again over his chest.

Nikolas smiled curtly, his hands smoothing over the fabric of the Finn's own robe.

The thinly made sashes of the cloak were stiff to the touch, as if they hadn't been worn on warm skin for ages. Tino scrunched his nose as he sniffed at the damnable thing, the perfume of wildflowers and dead moths clinging to the flaxen ropes that were strung from it.

The robe itself was not ugly—oh no, Tino couldn't say that. The base of the cloth was a dull white, like dusty ivory that hadn't seen the sun for quiet some time. The trimmings were of little bits of yellow died wool, twisted finely to create the tough and workable stitches that could be stretched or formed to the Finn's body with ease. The sashes that held it together were a periwinkle blue that went well to compliment Tino's amethyst eyes. All together the robe was beautiful—but it looked like it should belong to a young Swedish maid, and not a scared and confused Finnish man.

"I can't wear this..." Tino murmured with defiance as Nikolas set down a pair of dark blue trousers and another holiday tunic that was smaller than Nikolas', but just as beautifully decorated, with little dollops of golden stitching that created a rectangle of swirls at the shirts collar.

Tino, liking the tunic much more than the feminine robe, grabbed at the tunic before hovering it over his head and plucking it down over his ears. He shuffled his arms through the warm wooly cloth and smiled a smile as radiant as the golden hall of Freyja herself.

The pleated wool fit snugly against his body and made him smile confidently. The material, though it did not breath as well as the Finn would have liked—would keep him snugly and warm as he ventured out into the night that was flush filled with Vikings. Tino, feeling a bitter wave of fear wash over his mind, reminded himself to behave. He did not want to insult Berwald again—for if he did, he was slightly convinced by his own fear that he just might lose his head to the blade of a Swedish blade.

Best not to think about decapitation, he suddenly realized as he pouted. No, definitely best to not think of such things.

"See, this is how a man should dress." He stated matter of factually, as he smoothed his hands over the tunic. Nikolas rolled his eyes before he sighed, wishing with heated breath that his cousin wasn't so damn stubborn.

Tino flickered his gaze back to the robe that was waiting patiently in the Norwegian's arms. The low sweeping of cloth that he noticed had stitches of white crosses shaped like stars. Tino suddenly felt a twinge of longing to have that beautiful cloth draped over his body with snug embrace. Well... it was a pretty robe...and he was more that positive that it would look simply gorgeous on him... he reached his hands up at the corners of the robes collar almost reverently...But! But! He was a man and men wore tunics. No amount of persuasion could sway him!

"It's either the robe or a woman's frock. Your choice, cousin." Nikolas murmured with a vapid voice as he helped Tino into his trousers, the woolen cloth sliding over his legs with an itching feeling. The Finn snarled at his cousin's harsh demand and conditions before he kicked his feet away, tightening the belt around his waist himself. He made a show of it, gripping at leather with anger before he buckled it with the metal clip.

"You are as conniving as Loki himself—do you know that cousin?"* Tino growled out bitterly before grabbing at the robe and shoving it through his arms, the cloth a bit more heavy than he expected.

Once the draping and soft robe was mounted on his shoulders, Tino couldn't help but look down at his body. His tunic was completely engulfed, like a small flower surrounded by a row of tall ash trees. It made him feel less like a man and more like a woman—a strangely calming notion that simply made him feel a bit more at ease. He had always been attracted to pretty things—perhaps wearing a woman's garment, if only for a night, would not completely be his undoing. At least, he hoped.

"I don't know if it will fit... It drags awfully long, like the tail of a serpent..." Tino mumbled with worry as Nikolas shoved him up and off the bed. Tino nearly tripped as his foot caught on the slithering tail of the beastly cloth, the robe making a swaying movement that rocked his whole body stiffly.

"It is as if I am wearing the stiff bark of a rowan tree for a sash!" Tino complained bitterly as the carded material bit against his skin snugly. Well, at least it fit against his girlish hips quiet well...

"You will get used to it. Mine was tailored for me back in Denmark, your robe I'm afraid was made with average measurements..." Nikolas replied before adjusting the hem on Tino's garment, the thick and weighty cloth making the air around him feel hotter and stuffier. Oh if only he could catch his breath...! This thing was like wearing an inferno round his neck and waist!

"Average measurements for _who_? A Troll?" Tino grumbled out, thrusting his hands outward only to have the sleeves completely engulf his hands like some hungry monster nibbling at his fingers. Nikolas only chuckled, grabbing a small bone pin from his own robes pocket. The sharp point of the milky bone catching Tino's eye.

"Average measurements for a Swedish woman."* Nikolas explained, sticking the pin into the woven cloth before holding it up and pinning it back again with a handful of cloth, making it remarkably shorter. He pulled out another pin and began working on the left side of the cloak.

Tino frowned as he swished the dense and weighty sleeves at his sides. _A Swedish woman?_  
>"Then this robe was not made for me?" Tino asked, his head turning to see Nikolas wrangled and scrunch the ends of the robe in his hands before pinning them down as if they were a wild beast about to roll all over the floor.<p>

"Not exactly. This robe is supposed to be worn by Berwald's bride. His mother, bless her heart, was so obsessed with having her unapproachable son wed that she would often have her handmaids and seamstresses make wonderful clothing creations for whoever was to be his bride—or so I've been told anyway. This, was one of her best works." Nikolas said as he patted the garment on the edges of the sleeves. Tino bit his lip, watching as Nikolas stood up from his squatting to smooth down the edges of the front of the robe, looking Tino in the eye.

"She had it made with a female in mind—but with a few more whale bone pins and a bit of some flax thread we can fix that." Nikolas murmured reassuringly more to Tino then to himself. Tino could only stand still and let Nikolas run his hands along the coarse and somewhat dusty fabric. So. Berwald's mother had meant for this robe to be worn by a beautiful Swedish maiden—for a beautiful Swedish wedding... Tino bit his lip, feeling something hot and venomous boil in his stomach, making him feel dreadfully sick.

He felt like he suddenly wanted to cry for some unknown reason.

To have the knowledge that he was not the perfect bride for the Swede, that he was not the ideal choice—the first pick. Well. It stung. He was always so sure that it was Berwald that needed him. That it as Tino who, even through the bones of painful love, had a bit more control. That it was Berwald who needed _him_ while Tino could simply just lock his feelings up tight and be just fine without the giant.

Locking up his heart, he was sure, would only hurt for the first months of his marriage to the Swede. But he would slowly get used to it. He had to. He couldn't bare the thought of moving just an inch—and having it all be in vain. It hurt too much to love. It hurt less to just lock his heart up.

But it wasn't supposed to hurt. He should feel glad, happy. He should relish in the fact that he was not suited to be Berwald's perfect match. That, even if he did get married to the viking—he could still hold onto that little fact that they weren't meant to be together—at least in the eyes of others. Berwald was supposed to be married to a Swedish maid, not a scrawny Finnish boy. Tino should take satisfaction in the fact that he was not perfectly matched to love the Swede. That thought alone should take some of the spite from his heart. It should make him forget the love he feels for the Swede. It should make him give up this desperate need in his heart... But he didn't want to find comfort in that thought. Instead he wanted to throw that thought to the wind. He wanted to clear his mind of that thought that dared to make his stomach squelch and grow queasy. He wanted to vanquish it.

He twisted his eyes downward, feeling the stinging of tears bite against his eyes. He had never felt like this before. Was it jealousy? Envy? Or...was it heart ache. Tino made a small sound in the back of his voice like a pained animal. Yes. He was heartbroken by the fact that he wasn't considered the best for the Swedish viking. The fact that he was even feeling this way scared him more than anything! But... The fear he could deal with. Had always dealt with. Heartache was something of it's own kind. It's own wicked kind. He just didn't know what to do with it.

As if sensing his cousin's distress, Nikolas stepped back from Tino to stare at his face, the first drops of tears already falling from his angry blushed face. Nikolas frowned before wiping a tear away with his finger, holding Tino's hands in his, rolling his thumbs over his hands in a comforting gesture.

"Tino—Tino what's wrong?" Nikolas asked, as he sat his cousin down on the bed. Tino sniffled, about to wipe his nose with the sleeve of the robe before he thought better of it. He instead just sat hunched over, his body wracking into sobs that he wished he could stop. He wished he could just smile up and his cousin and say truthfully that nothing was wrong. But that would be a lie...

"Tino... Calm down, it doesn't matter if the robe wasn't made for you _specifically_. You're wearing it now—aren't you? Doesn't that make you feel better?" Nikolas asked him, holding the Finn to his chest as he cried. Tino bit his lip painfully before he pushed away, the tears turning angry.

"But... I don't know if I want to be in the robe—I mean! I know I do—but I-! Oh! Why is this so confusing? Why can't I just love him openly? Why can't I just admit to myself and to him that I do love him. Why can't I just stop acting like a damn impish woman and just _tell_ him!" Tino hissed out with a harsh bought of breath, his face turning an ugly red from the tears. Nikolas cooed to him and hushed him as if he was a crying child—which was what he was Nikolas reminded himself.

Maybe not in years, as nineteen years of age was considered plenty old for a male of Tino's stature... But, in emotion, in thought, in heart. Tino was still a child, he was still effected by things like a child would be. He had a certain naive innocence that often made it harder for him to accept things, to sift through problems and emotions with the maturity of an adult. He was just a child for Gods sakes! Already experiencing love that he has been forced into. Already feeling emotions that he probably couldn't even name let alone understand!

Nikolas paused slowly, his eyes combing over his younger cousin's face, the face that used to hold so much warmth but now only held pain and confusion.

"Oh my poor cousin, my poor little cousin..." Nikolas sighed before he wrapped his arms around Tino's shoulders. He pressed his lips to Tino's crown of dove soft hair and breathed, feeling his own chest clench with sorrow.

"I know it sounds cruel, but you are in the real world now. No longer can you run to the safely of the cottage when the lightning strikes, no longer can you taste the sweetness of the blackberries without getting a thorn stabbed into your thumb, no longer can you hope to escape the conflict of the Gods simply because you are an innocent. You are a child no more, Tino. You are a man. A man who is in love and who doesn't understand the feelings of it." Nikolas paused to curl his fingers under Tino's chin, lifting his face up, the tears subsiding slightly as Tino rubbed his red rimmed eyes with his knuckles.

"Love should be easy, beautiful and simple. Not such a hard and evil thing." Tino growled out bitterly. Nikolas sighed and pressed his forehead to his cousin's shoulders, releasing his feather-like grip on his chin.

"By the Gods Tino, I wished it was that easy. But it is not. Love is painful. It is powerful and sweet as well, but it can sometimes bring grief to those who welcome the struggles of it." Nikolas explained, closing his eyes softly.

"Are you saying that I have brought this—this grief onto myself?" Tino wailed, his voice treading on sorrow and anger. Nikolas swallowed harshly. He shifted his head so that his chin rested on the Finn's shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

"Yes. That is what I am saying. I think you are putting up impossible obstacles around your heart, making Berwald jump through hoops of fire to win your love because you are too scared to unlock your heart for him. I know you have terms. You want him to prove that he loves you. And he has, slowly but surely he is gaining your trust and love whether you like it or not. It's okay to be scared, but you will never taste the benefits that love can bring if all you do is wallow in the disasters it can also wreck." Nikolas spoke slowly and quietly, his breath breathing deeply against the robe that was spread on Tino's shoulders.

After a few seconds they just sat their in silence until Tino, sliding his eyes open, took a loud and shaky breath that shook his shoulders. He didn't want to hear what his cousin had just said. He didn't want to to take it to heart, to think about it, to mull it over in his mind. But he had to. He had to because he didn't know how much of this damn heartache he could take. It was already eating into him with dulled teeth and he hated it. So, he swallowed his pride, his worry and his fear, and spoke.

"Alright. I won't wallow. I won't cry. I won't barricade myself anymore to hide my own fear." Tino spoke with a soft tremor in his voice.

Nikolas slowly sunk his head back, his eyes impossible to read as they stared at Tino with empty bluish-blackness. Tino hardened his gaze. He set his jaw with determined strength, wincing slightly from the dull ache that was still buried into his mouth.

"I am not saying that I will embrace Berwald with honeyed tongue and a warm kiss—but I will give him a chance. I will not shy when he gives me affection and I in turn will do my best to melt the chains that so stiffly hold my heart." Tino spoke slowly and surely with a careful stepping of his words. He knew that he might regret his decision, but now, when his tears had stopped and his heart had quieted it's maddened beating—it felt nice. Making an effort. He only hoped it would not be in vain.

"Then," Nikolas said, wiping the Finn's eyes with the corners from his own darkly dyed robe, "go out into the warm air, take his hand, and let him lead _you_ into exploring your own heart." Nikolas said with a gentle smile. He combed his fingers in a mollifying way, easing some of the tension that was built up between the Finn's eyes.

Tino sniffled and nodded slowly, a small smile peeking over and onto his lips. It would take effort, but he was sick of wallowing in grief and uncertainty. He would, slowly but surely, tell the giant how he truly felt—not all at once, but with time. Tino's smile grew, his heart being able to breath with more ease as the chains around it's red flesh began to loosen.

Nikolas, giving his cousin another tight and warm hug, let the Finn go with a slow movement of his hands. Tino pressed his hands into the bedding for balance before he stood up, his bare feet slipping into his soft goat hide boots. He tied the strings to the boots as quickly as he could—eager to finally be set free from his own uncertainty and pent up misery. Wobbling slightly in the monstrous garment, he tried his best to widen his smile as he nearly tripped over his own feet.

Nikolas watched as Tino took a heavy breath before he steadied himself and waddled his way to the tent flaps, about to pull the curtain of hides away to embrace the warm night when he heard Nikolas give a small shout. Turning his head around he sees Nikolas, a grin on his face.

"Wait!" Nikolas breathed out into the warming air when he realized he had forgotten something. Tino gazed stiffly at his cousin to see Nikolas holding up a long chain of keys, each one jingling, laced with gold that gleamed with a bright twisting of light.* Tino eyed them with a wide and confused gaze, his fingers mulling over the keys, making spasmodic music as they shook and clinked as if they had a life of their own.

Nikolas simply smiled as he walked slowly over to his cousin, wrapping the metal cord of gold chains around his slim and effeminate waist. Tino raised the sleeves of his robe to help the Norwegian, his hips feeling the strain of the metal, as if they were a cord of iron wrapped around him.

"Nikolas, I feel silly! I am a man dressed in a brides robes with keys jingling from my waist!" Tino whined, his mind steadily trying to block out the previous necessary but painful thoughts from just a minute ago. Nikolas only hummed softly as he clipped the edges of the cord to his cousin's waist, the ropes of gold glittering against the whiteness of the robe.

"Nonsense. You look beautiful—more fit for a bride then any Swedish women from Västmanland to Halland!"* Nikolas commented, fixing the twisted collar of the robe. He then stepped back and flitted his feet over to the chest again, Tino watching him with feigned curiosity.

Nikolas, Reaching back into the trunk to pull out another item, quickly touched something a milky white into his hands, tucking it between his fingers. He skidded over against the dirt to return back to his cousin, an unnatural glint in his eye that made Tino swallow harshly.

Holding out his palm, the Norwegian pressed the object into the Finnish man's thin hands. Tino, pressing his gaze into his hand, lightly retracted his fingers to feast his eyes upon a broach that was the roughly the size of Tino's fist! The silken and light weighted pin seemed to be made from ashen bone. Tino pressed the smooth curves of the breast pin into his hands before his eyes caught the shape of the beautiful jewelry. It was carved into the sloping line of a sleeping animal—a lion!

Tino eyed it with parted lips, his fingers reaching out to touch the smoothed bone of the beast. The lion looked to be curled up into it's tale, as if it was sleeping on a hot summers day. Tino fingered the smoothness of it before noticing that, where the crudely made eyes were woven, two flecks of amethyst that perfectly matched the Finn's own gentle violet orbs, had been placed into the bone.

Tino marveled at the beauty of the thing before he felt sender hands cup against his fingers to take the broach from his palm. Tino stared up at Nikolas with a gentle smile as Nikolas pinned the broach to his cousin's breast, connecting the robe at his heart.

"This, unlike the robe, was especially made for you. When Berwald heard that you're eyes were like polished amethyst, he carved this just for you by his own hands." Nikolas murmured as he stepped back to admire the happy glow that seemed to radiate from the Finn. Tino smiled down at the broach, fingering it with a subtle emotion that filled him with warmth.

"I shall have to thank him then..." Tino muttered with warm breath.

This was just another token that began to prove with more truth that the Swede did in fact cherish Tino and love him. Tino sighed and slipped his hands from the broach. But it would take much more then beautiful trinkets to grant the Swede a wife, not matter how sweet the gift was. Tino was sure that now he could begin to give Berwald love. But marriage—well that was something more complicated and more confusing. Tino bit the inside of his cheek. But it wasn't entirely impossible, no. Marriage could be attained, but Tino would have to open his heart wide open at the seems. He sighed, wondering if he had the strength to do just that.

Tired of thinking of things that weighted against his brow, Tino, with a kiss on his cousin's cheek, walked outward to the tent flaps with a bit more spring in his step. He sighed with contentment as he rubbed the last of the drying tears on his face. He smoothed the thick robe over his body and, with a big and shuddering breath, pushed the flaps open to join hands with his...Husband? Husband. Tino smiled.

…..

Berwald sighed as he waited patiently against the tarps of the tent for his bride. His fingers were nervously fidgeting with the strings of his tunic as he retied them not once—not twice—but three times due to the nervousness that was swelling in his heart.

The air was cool and biting as it glided around his face and shoulders and yet the insides of his body were as hot as a pot on the fire. Sizzling and bubbling.

He knew he had nothing to be bashful about, nothing to be shameful or grief stricken. He was simply going to escort his bride to the hot springs that were just a few minutes walk up north. Easy. Simple. Uncomplicated.

So then why did it make his heart feel tight in his chest and his stomach queasy? It's not like Berwald had never seen the bearings of a naked man before! When he was little he would always bathe with the handmaidens little boys that roamed the Hall's great walls. They would laugh and play and blow bubbles with their noses! They would quip and sing off key to stories and tales and would run around buck naked chasing the hunting dogs. Nothing could be more carefree and affable.

Yet the knot in his gut only grew.

Perhaps it was because Tino was not like the boys of his youth. No, Tino was something special, something worth remembering, not like the misty half recognizable faces of his past friends and companions that would help with the daily chores in the Hall. No, Tino was something to take notice of. With his shinning spun hair, his blushing face like a ripe strawberry, his amethyst eyes that were filled to the brim with warmth, his lithe body and smooth skin, the light curving of hips that swayed when he walked, his full and soft lips—Berwald immediately cut off his string of thought, his face burning into a fiery red.

He ground his teeth together and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose trying to get rid of all the impure thoughts of his little bride. He promised Tino he would not sully his body with his vulgar thoughts and by the Gods he intended to keep that promise! So, with a hissing of his breath he tried his best to sooth his aching mind and clear his head. He pressed his hands to his legs and sat down against the tent, his back leaning against one of the skeletal poles that suspended the huge flakes of hide up to the tent flaps.

Yes, Tino was different. That was the reason Berwald was having such a hard time with wrestling the thought of seeing the young man in a steamy bath of spring water. Tino was something that Berwald was almost afraid to touch, afraid to approach because he felt that his own burning affection for the man would smolder and consume the last chances of friendship he had with the Finn.

Perhaps it was because Berwald just simply did not know how to really approach people, how to really grab people's attention without having to glare at them or bark out an order. He was a man of solitude ever since he was little.

Berwald would often like to be left alone when he was young, left in the stables to tend to the ponies or to venture out into the forest to pick up throwing stones. Oh, he wasn't so standoffish as to not at least attempt to play with the neighboring farmers sons and daughters that came to his fathers Hall to trade goods or talk of business. Berwald was very cordial, very kind, and very civil to all of them. But he took no real pleasure in their company as he grew up. He outgrew the need to talk to people, outgrew the need to run races and play with other children his age, outgrew the need to even glance at someone when he walked the hallways of his fathers stoney Hall during the cold Swedish winters.

That's what his life was like. Winter. Cold and bleak, damp and quiet.

But when Tino came along, everything changed. When Berwald first laid eyes on the sheepish little man in Peter's medical hut Berwald knew that was the perfect bride for him.

He needed Tino by his side more than he needed to breath air. He didn't even consider that the Finn would refuse, that he would flat out reject him and smack him away. But, neither did Berwald consider the fact that Tino could warm up to him.

It seemed the Finn had calmed his nerves of the giant, for no longer did he glare at him—at least not without teasing intent. He still shied like a small rabbit from a hunters snare, but he would at least do his best to not hang Berwald out to dry with misery. Berwald knew he had made the Finn uncomfortable since the first time he was brought here to the Land of the Swede's, but hopefully, with the help of the feast tonight, Berwald could get closer to him, could help to patch up the worrisome aches and frightful pains that the Finn was undoubtedly feeling due to Berwald's often forceful courtship attempts.

Sighing with heavy breath Berwald nodded to himself and sat up, dusting his tunics off, his glare back in place, scanning the night air around him. He would remedy his relationship with the Finn. He would show himself a gentlemen, of perfect intent, pure at heart, loving and kind. He only hoped that opening up to the young Finn would help him be in better spirits with him. Berwald would so hate to have ruined all his patience for nothing—well, as patient as one can call kissing their bride the first day he has met him. Berwald sighed bitterly. This would be harder than he thought.

But before he could think much more on the subject, he heard the tarps that made the doors of the tent slither and slide. Looking upward Berwald imitatively fixed his eyes on a sight that would shame even the beauty of Frejya herself.

Pausing with his foot out of the tent, stood the sheepish Finn, clad in a long and vibrant ivory robe, fixed with light blue sashes and golden fringe. Berwald swallowed harshly, his eyes undoubtedly widening at the loveliness fixed before him. Tino's hair his his flushed face slightly as he looked down at the floor, his goat hide slippers shifting slightly in the dirt on the ground.

Draped over the thin shoulders of the Finn was the beautiful robe that Berwald remembered his mother making for his bride to be. The Swede smiled softly as he grazed his eyes over the slender Finn, the huge robe all but engulfing him. Pressed against his curved hips with delicate care sat a row of softly twinkling keys, golden in color, that shone more brightly than the stars.

The Swede let a shallow breath escaped his rough lips before he, remembering himself a gentlemen, held out the crook of his arm for the Finn to take, his other hand keeping the blanket tucked neatly under his arm.

Tino, fixing his eyes on the offered arm, blushed softly, hopping the blackened blue sky above them hide his shinning face.

Yet, with a quick fumbling of his fingers, he did not take the Swede's extended arm, but instead softly gripped the Swede's slender fingers in his own, holding them lightly, his palms already feeling much too hot.

Berwald could only stare back stunned out of his mind. Tino let a small smile grace his lips before he thought better of it. His eyelashes brushed against his cheeks and he cleared his throat, his voice just a light whisper.

"Perhaps, we should journey to the spring?" Tino asked with quiet breath as he looked up at the still dumbfounded Swede from behind his lashes.

Berwald, shaking himself from his stupor, curtly nodded sharply, his glare doing it's best to struggle itself back on his face.

"_J-Ja_...Ah. Yes." Berwald murmured, trying his best to not loose his damn never. He fidgeted in his step before standing up to his full height, his eyes staring dead ahead, anything to distract himself from the Finn's effeminate beauty. He had to practically wring his neck to the side to not have his heated glare bore it's way into the Finn.

Tino, noticing the Swede's obvious struggle smiled softly. He reminded himself that he was to be open, to take a chance. So, with a deep breath he lightly pulled the Swede's hands along, ushering the Swede to follow him.

"Berwald, you may look at me—if-if you wish. I only meant that you may not look upon me while I am in the water to bathe." Tino whispered, changing his gate so that it was now Berwald who was leading them down the village streets.

Berwald flicked his head downward to gaze at the Finn, his eyes as round and startled as a deer. Tino couldn't help but smiled at his confused and slightly relieved gaze.

"Ah...Re-really? It doesn't b'ther ya'? I can look even th'ugh I glare?" Berwald mumbled, the tension from around his eyes visibly softening.

Tino lightly shook his head, his hair bouncing around his snow white cheeks.

"I do not mind. But I can't help but wondering why you _do _glare so much... You're face will stay that way if you are not careful!" Tino teased, already feeling more relaxed. Give the man a chance...Yes. This was working. Tino could do this. He could open up, he could do it...

Berwald seemed to think about what the Finn had said, pressing his calloused fingers to his face, scrunching up his cheeks.

"Really th'nk it'll stay th't way?" Berwald asked, his voice a little bit worried. Tino laughed, the sound like wind chimes against the wind. Berwald set his fingers back at his side, still happily aware that the Finn's other hand was clutched in his. It felt warm, Tino's hand. It felt right.

"I'm kidding. It probably won't stay stuck that way..." Tino giggled, his heart beginning to breathe again, the chains slowly but surely melting in their place. He couldn't say his love for the man would fully bloom over night, but, if he tended it enough, opened his heart one lock at a time—well. It could help to scatter some of the heartbreak, and who knows, maybe Berwald would really prove his love for him! Tino only hoped so, he desperately wanted to know how the man truly felt, how far he would go to prove his love. Tino sighed, feeling the warm fingers against his slide and shift with contentment.

Already they were, thanks to the Swede's long strides, nearing the north of the village where a elevated trail led upwards to a small nestling of frothy trees. Tino stared up at the sky that looked to have been smeared with indigo paint, the stars waning back and forth between shifts of cloud and smoke from the torches that lit and flanked their way.

Already Tino could hear the laughter and singing from a little ways eastward. The sound of a fiddle and pan pipes invaded his ears and caught his attention. Tino turned his head and saw with a quick parting of lips, the roaring bonfire that was coupled by a massive group of people.

Women poking and prodding at heavy slabs of boar and deer that were roasting and crackling on the cooking fires, men puffing on sprigs of ceder pipes as they told tales of war and mirth, children that were old enough to stay up playing with wooden swords or corn dollies against the fires light. Tino stared on and looked with awe at the spray of happy villagers, remembering Berwald's words of how, because of Tino, the Swedish people of the land found new hope and courage within themselves.

"Aren't you worried about the flames from the torches and the bonfire?" Tino said, looking behind them to see the huddled mass of people laughing and singing against the warm berth of flames. The smoke spiraled upward to join with the slowly moving clouds, the moon fattening to a slowly forming chipped orb.

Berwald looked behind him to gaze at the people seated on logs, raising their hands up as the laughed heartily at something a Dane or a Swede said. Berwald shook his head and turned back up the trek, already passing by the last of the huts and moving along the low cut pens of the sheep. Already the animals were bawing and scattering, frightened of the moonlit walkers.

"Nah'. The clouds t'ke care of th' sm'ke... N' the torches n' f're? Well, the Russian's are a way's away N'rth-West. They can't see th' flames from where th'y are, too m'sty tonight..." Berwald mumbled, pointing to the mist that was indeed swirling up from the swamp to the west.

Tino looked back behind him at the happy mass of people before blinking. "Oh..." was all he said, satisfied by the Swede's answer. He, still curling his fingers with Berwald, did his best to shuffle his feet, his robe dragging along by the edges. Tino, not wanting to dirty the thing, gripped a bundle of it in his left hand to hold it up, Berwald taking notice.

"Ya' look pr'tty in th' robe..." He complimented, gazing up at the garment that was wrapped steadily around the Finn's shoulders. Tino smiled with a bit of tiredness before he looked back at the giant, the keys on his waist jingling like little brass bells.

"Th-thank you... It's awfully long though..." Tino commented, trying to take the bitterness out of his voice, his face blushing slightly. _Well of course it's long! It was made for a big breasted Swedish woman! _Tino hissed in his mind.

Berwald pressed his eyes downward noticing how short the Finn really was and how long the cloak laid out. With a furrow of his brow he indeed saw that the dregs of the cloth did drag low to the floor. Berwald frowned, slightly annoyed that his wife's bridle gown did not fit the Finn as best as it could.

So, with a stiff jolt of his arms, Berwald decided to remedy the problem. In a quick slip of his hand he let go of the Finn's fingers and pressed his hands against the bend in the Finn's knees and the small of his back, heaving up a shocked and wide eyed Tino.

Tino squeaked as the giant of a Swede heaved him up bridle style, his robe shifting over his legs to droop slightly. But, miraculously the height from the Swede's strong arms allowed the robe to not touch the ground. Berwald smiled with a bit of confidence, his eyes turned to Tino.

The Finn clutched maddeningly at the Swede's tunic, his arms wrapped around the neck of the man. Berwald only smiled more, the glint from the torches gleaming off his crudely made glasses.

"Wh-What did you do that for? I can walk on my own!" Tino hissed, his feet kicking up in the air, demanding to be put down. Berwald frowned, his smile disappearing. He had only wanted to help, and here Tino was yelling at him to put him down. Well, Berwald wouldn't have that. He was to be a gentlemen after all, and gentlemen carry their wives over mud and grime lest their frocks be soiled.

"Yer robe was getting' dirty..." Berwald explained, stepping over a few crumbling rocks as he ducked his head under a low set aspen. Tino ducked his head as well, biting his lip.

"Ah...Okay...Well, I guess if it keeps the mud off the cloak...But! But only this once! I don't want to be carried around like a lame dog! I don't want to be a nuisance!" Tino insisted, looking up at Berwald with stubborn and embarrassed filled eyes. Berwald simply stared down at him, his foot stepping onto the stone laden path that had finally wedged around a group of shrubs to show a froth of steam.

"Not a nuis'nce..." Berwald insisted, setting the Finn down onto a clump of soft heather. Tino, feeling his legs wobble underneath him slightly, blushed before looking back to the Lion of a man.

"Well... Thank you for carrying me, but I am really alright to walk by myself." Tino asserted with a bit of heated breath as he began to walk over to the cracked and rocky lip of the welled spring that was bubbling and steaming with water. Berwald just grunted, setting himself down on a smoothed log that was a bit wet from the rising steam.

Tino peered over into the water with a curious gaze, his nose twitching slightly from the acidic water's boiling scent. He cautiously, on bended knee, sank his hand into the water, careful in case some tricky water elf should snag his hand and drag him under into the bubbling waters.

With a few more swirls of his hand, he deemed the water safe enough to bathe in and lightly trotted over to a low set tree bough, the trees limbs smoothed down by constant use from the villagers as a post to hold thier clothes while they bathed.

Berwald, watching with curious and slightly amused eyes as his wife checked the waters safety of the welled spring, could only look on with blushing cheeks as the Finn began to disrobe, untying the ropes of keys that were slung along his waist.

Only the soft bubbling from the frothing water and the the slither of the robe as it left his shoulders filled the silent clearing. The lack of noise or conversation was drowning to say the least and it made the Finn a bit nervous.

Feeling the awkward silence drone on, Tino decided to fill it.

"What is this spring called, surely it has a name?" Tino asked as he delicately laid the heavy robe on the bough, the strong limbs of the ash tree even sinking lower to the ground from such a weighty garment.

Berwald, turning his insistent gaze from the Finn, looked back to the frothing and bubbling spring, the minerals in the water making it smell a bit more pungent that his nose would have liked.

"We c'll it, '_Fimbulthul_,' after th' r'vers th't spr'ng from th' c'uldron of _Hvergelmir_..." * Berwald mumbled, twiddling his thumbs in between his palms.

Tino stopped unbuckling his belt, the name for the spring striking him a bit odd. He turned to Berwald and back at the spring.

"Why would you name such a peaceful spring after such a rotting river under Yggdrasill's root in Niflheim?"* Tino questioned, working now on the laces that tied his tunic in place, his hands all but quivering as they slowly undid the knots, his face beginning to blush. He couldn't help but make small talk! He was about to relax in a warming spring under the watchful eye of a Swedish Viking! He couldn't think of anything more mortifying or humiliating his life!

"N'med it th't ta' scare off th' Russian's... Th'y know bit a' th' Norse Tales. The n'ming of th' well keeps 'em at bay..." Berwald muttered. Berwald, noticing that the Finn's fingers were shaking as he undid his tunic knot, frowned. Not wanting to further upset the male, he quickly turned his back to the slowly darkening greenery, only the stars and moon giving light into the small copse.

"I w'nt look, ya' can go in n'w..." Berwald mumbled as he rested his gaze on the shadows that doused along an aspen grove, the leaves shimmering like jewels.

At the little assertion of privacy, Tino sighed out with relief, his shoulders melting away their tension.

"Th-thank you..." He murmured past his lips, his eyes lingering back to the Viking who was patiently turning his gaze away. W_ell, he certainly does not act like the Vikings I have heard about back home... _Tino thought with a bit more kindness. No, Berwald was turning out to be a perfect gentlemen. He was patient, chaste, and kind with his words and actions to the Finn. It made Tino feel a bit more at ease as he shuffled his arms out of the stuffy but lovely weaved tunic. Setting it on the bough with the robe he then got to work with slipping out of his plush goat hide slippers.

Berwald strained his shoulders tightly, his hands going rigid on his knees. Odin knows that the Swede desperately wanted to sneak a peek at the Finn's moonlit skin, and when he heard the crinkle of the Finn's tunic being shuffled off, well it nearly killed the Swede with want.

Berwald bit the inside of his cheek as he set his stoney glare on the nights shadows once more, reasoning with himself that he mustn't look at his bride with lusty intent—Tino would probably have his head on a pike if he did. But the lull in the conversation, the shuffling of clothing and the careful tune that the Finn had now adopted between his lips on starved Berwald's patience once more. He bit at his lips and squeezed his eyes tight, trying to think of something other then his tightening girth.

Tino slipped his feet from his trousers carefully, the cloth pooling around his bare and small feet lightly. The flagstones underneath his feet were wet and sticky from the water and the added dust from the early summer winds and it clung between toes with annoyance. So, finding no better way to wash the grim and the dirt from the unpleasant voyage here to the many days met with strife, he slowly and sheepishly made his way over to the bubbling well, the water looking nice and inviting.

Checking over his shoulder to see that the Swede was still turned away, he swiftly—though careful not to slip on the mortared stones—went to the edge of the welled spring.

The steam coiled up around his bare shoulders and made him lick his lips with anticipation of a hot bath. Normally back home Nikolas and he would simply wade into the ice cold river with Björt and scrub the days muck from their hair. It was a rare treat when they got warm water and it usually only happened in the winter when Nikolas melted huge chunks of snow and ice in a brass pot over the fire and washed it over the boys in a low lipped trough used to feed the calf's in spring.

Tino had no sudden urge to ever bathe in a cows watering trough again for as long as he lived. He just couldn't get the smell of manure and chewed grass out of his hair. But, looking down with happiness at the warming water, it seemed he wouldn't ever have to. Being the wife of a Viking wouldn't be too bad if it gave him such rare treats as warm and flowing water.

So, with a little dip of his foot, the shivering Finn sank his body into the warm and bubbly water of the spring, feeling the natural gas from the cracks in the mortar seep and bubble into the water along with the sulfuric smell of the minerals that washed over his body.

"Ahhhhh..." Tino let out a satisfied sigh as his shoulders sunk deeper into the heavenly water, his nose blowing bubbled in the currants of the well.

Berwald, hearing that contented sigh, wondered if it would be okay to look to the Finn, seeing if his body was covered by the milky water. He made a shifting movement of his legs before he craned his head to the left, his jaw jutting towards the Finn.

"T'no?" Berwald called, his eyes not meeting in the direction of the Finn as Tino quickly whirled his head back to the giant, forgetting for a split second that the man was even there.

"Ye-yes?" he responded, hugging his knees to his chest, the hot water tickling against his collarbone. He looked to the Swede and blinked, seeing Berwald stand up from his seat but not turn around.

"Can I w'sh yer b'ck now? H've ta' hurry if we wanna' m'ke the feast..." Berwald mumbled with a whisper of breath, his cheeks flushing a bright red that Tino could still make out in the dark.

Feeling his own cheeks burning he nodded, only realizing that the Swede couldn't see the gesture.

"Oh-Okay..." Tino mumbled, sinking his body deeper into the water, his back pressed against the smoothed rim of the shinning flagstone. The water curled around him and swayed like a fine blanket made of silk, but it did little to curb the Finn's abash filled heart.

At that sheepish answer Berwald, hesitantly, with a bit more caution in his step, walked over to the small thatched hut that stood silently against the a sloping wall of boulders that shielded the warming spring from the drifting snow during the winter.

Tino watched with cautious eyes as Berwald made his way silently to the low thatched hut, the small hall too shallow and with a low ceiling to even house the most impish and little of the dwarfs.

Tino sank his hands into the water to rub the sifting dirt from his legs as he watch the giant stoop low to the ground to shuffle his hands through a few wrung's and bars in the thatched hut, the sod and grainy hay roof dripping with steam from the welled spring.

Finally Berwald's hands pulled back, his fingers clenched around a small shred of dulled cloth. Then the giant, with a creaking of his powerful muscles, stood up again and began to walk slowly to the Finn and sat himself down on the balls of his feet, the water that slipped into the mortared crags eating hungrily up his leather bound boots. Carefully he showed the Finn the scrap of cloth, the Finn's eyes watching him closely.

"Don' h've any lye soap..." He explained as he lightly pressed the edges of the cloth into the water a good ways away from Tino's body, not wanting to accidentally brush his fingers against something that would most definitely get him a smack on the head and shriek from the Finn.

Carefully Berwald picked the cloth back up from the bubbling and brimming water and brushed it against the Finn's water flecked shoulders. Tino shuddered involuntarily as the hot and steaming cloth was lightly rubbed into his skin with care. But, before he let his mouth make any more embarrassing noises, he snapped his lips shut and locked them, doing his best to just hold still and let the giant of a man wash his back.

_ That is all he is doing. He is simply washing my back. Nothing more, nothing less._ Tino kept telling himself with queasy thought, his hands wrenching themselves against his warming knees underneath the water. But not matter how he tried not to look upon the situation with a heavy heart, he felt this breath catch in his throat, the silence between the two nearly driving him insane!

"Ah...So. A feast in my honor?" Tino did his best to strike up a conversation, anything that encouraged the sound of voices no matter how muddled to fill in the hissing noises of the water and the sloshing sounds of the cloth. The damp scrap of flax began carefully wrapping around his shoulders to clean off the sweat and dust from his time in the land of the Swedes.

Berwald, rubbing his fingers into the cloth with slowly moving circles made a grunt of a noise that constituted as a confirming signal—or at least, that's what Tino thought. He was never entirely sure with the man's grumbling dialogue. But, the small bought of noise did nothing to even begin to extinguish the silence, so, Tino spoke again, this time leaning into the giants touch, his eyes careful in case Berwald should break his oath about being chaste with him. But—no Viking would ever break such an oath lest they wanted to have their blood sucked from their bodies by the wicked dragon Nidhogg.* Even a powerful man such as Berwald surely would not risk such a fate for a small touch of virgin flesh... or at least Tino hoped.

"So then, your people must not really care who I am or what I am." Tino mumbled, his fingers playing over his snow white skin, trying to scrub the sticky mud from his arms as best as he could. Berwald paused in his washing to flick his eyes over the head of the Finn, his brows furrowing in confusion.

" N' wh't are ya?" Berwald asked the Finnish man before he dunked the slowly cooling cloth of flax back into the warm spurting water of _Fimbulthul_, the water seething and boiling with a life of it's own.

Tino paused in his own scrubbing to frown, his lips in a slow pout. He tucked his eyes back to the milky water, the foam licking at his bare chest like the froth from a heated cauldron.

"I'm...I'm a man!" Tino reasoned, his voice mumbling with a fine tremor of nervousness. "I'm a man and I'm a Finn. Doesn't that bother you?" Tino finally spoke out, his voice wavering, the few flakes of courage that he once had tucked in his heart failing him.

Berwald sunk his gaze to the Finn before he paused, his breath quieting in his throat. He didn't quiet understand what his bride was saying. So what if Tino was Finnish, so what if Tino was a man—it didn't matter to the Swede. In fact, he very much liked the idea of having a man for a bride—it made things easier. He didn't have to be expected to buy fancy necklaces of gold for Tino (unless of course the Finn wanted fancy necklaces, then the Swede would have his best smiths at home fashion wonderful works of chokers and earrings, bracelets and arm bands), and he didn't have to be expected to listen to the meaningless jabber that women often hold so dear to thier lips, (of course he very well loved the sound of the Finn's voice and was more than content to listen to it all day). No, he quite like his pick of a bride. Tino was perfection at it's best. It was time the Finn started to realize it.

"Why would ya' bein' a man n' bein' born in th' land o'th' Finn's b'ther m'?" Berwald asked, awaiting the answer with bated breath as he once again renewed the water in the cloth by wringing it out onto the flag stone and dipping it back into the water. The water dripped a dull brown as it caught the dirt in the Finn's skin, only making Berwald vow to make his wife's snow white skin gleam as bright as the moon. His wife deserved a clean bath, Berwald reasoned.

Tino bit his lip and wriggled in his seat that was of a slimy and round stone. He played with his thumbs in his hands till they turned white before he mumbled out a reply.

"Well, I just assumed it would bother you. Simply because I cannot be expected to carry you a child, to further your lineage." Tino sighed out with a heated blush on his face. He took a shaky breath before he continued.

"Even if I _was_ of a woman's flesh I could not further the perfect bloodline of your ancestry... I am no Swede. I would dirty your line of descent. Even as I am now I am sullying your name as a Chieftain. You would be better to wed a Swedish maiden than me..." Tino spoke softly, the warm steam on his cheeks making his face flare red, his pink rimmed eyes rolling with slowly flowing tears.

Berwald stopped his hands altogether. He blinked rapidly, his fingers dropping the wash cloth to the grating stones as he stared at the back of Tino's head, his heart beating rapidly like the beating of a horses hooves.

"_Wh't_?"Berwald spoke, his voice sound a bit more louder as his stormy eyes narrowed and his fingers slightly clenched.

Tino jumped at the tone of the Swede's voice, causing some water to slosh out from the well to spill across the stoned floor.

"I...I just thought that, you would—that your people would want you to marry a woman so that you would have an heir to your tribe." Tino's voice shook with nervous fear as he turned his head to face the giant. At that moment Tino felt incredibly small compared to the crouched body of the hulking man as his hands gripped at his knees to steady his anger. Tino swallowed thickly in his throat and prayed with all his might for Thor's hammer to smash his skull in so that he wouldn't have to be at the end of such a menacing glare for mug longer.

"I already h've an heir, an' I don't care wh're yer fr'm. I don't care if yer F'nnish, Swedish, N'rwegian, Icelandic, or Hel! I don't care if yer D'nish! I fell in l've w'th yoo T'no. I couldn't ask fer anythin' more in a wife." Berwald's voice softened as the words were spoken, his fingers lightly placing themselves along Tino's shoulders, the Finn's chest heaving with spurts of heat filled breath. He jolted slightly from the Swede's touch.

Tino would not cry—even if he could blame it on the damn heat and steam that was spiraling up around him! He promised himself he would stop wallowing in his uncertainty and by all the Gods in _Asgard _he would do just that!*

So, taking a few minutes to compose himself, he spoke again, his voice surprisingly calm, only the flitting of a blush from the Swede's words lightly dusting his heated cheeks.

"You...You already have an heir? With who?" Tino asked, his voice quiet and slow, his eyes glassy with confusion. Surely the man did not have a mistress that Tino did not know about? Oh that would just about cleave his heart in two!

Now it was Berwald's turn to furrow his brow in confusion. Of course he had an heir! How could Tino already forget?

"P'ter a'course..." Berwald mumbled, his hands going back to working and weaving the cloth into Tino's tired skin. Tino, blinking back with muddled thoughts, stiffened his hands at his knees, the water working it's magic on his chilled bones.

"Peter? But he is not yours by blood...?" Tino made it sound like a question as he waited for a response from the lofty Swede. Berwald's body began to ache with the strain of squatting so low to the ground for such a long bought of time, but Tino was worth the dull ache—and, he was finally talking to the Finn. Granted he didn't like talking much, but with Tino it was different. As long as the Finn kept asking questions, Berwald would keep answering them in his clipped and guttered sentences as best as he could.

"Doesn't m'tter. I l've 'em l'ke he's m' own son. Both M'thias n' I h've taken oaths to have non-blood heirs. Björt will be cr'wned Cheiften of th' Danes wh'n he's older, an' P'ter will be Cheiften of th' Swedes." Berwald explained, wringing the water out of the cloth once more before he inspected his work. Tino's back was a glossy and white as a wolf's tooth. The Swede had gotten just about every fleck of dirt and every bead of sweat off his back while they talked. Tino, noticing that the Swede had set the cloth down, ran his strained hand over his back, his elbow at an odd angle as he felt his clean skin.

"Thank you..." Tino mumbled to Berwald, watching as the Swedish man nodded before he sat up, his knees popping and straining. Berwald then went back to the thatched hut to hang the cloth back up to dry for the next bather to come. Tino eagerly awaiting his return to his side.

"Your people do not care? Your family—they do not mind that you would wed yourself to a man? That you would not father offspring of your own bloodline?" Tino asked with shocked breath as he sat himself up from the well, his hands balancing up on the smoothed flagstone. Never mind the fact that Mathias was considering the small Icelander as his heir and Peter as the future ruler of the Swedes! Tino felt winded...Oh dear Gods! He was the mother of a prince! Of a Lord! Of a Chieftan!

Berwald shook his head, walking over to the felled log that he was sitting on before. He flicked his hands to the sides of the stump as if he were looking for something. Suddenly his wrist jerked back and he pulled out a long and scratchy blanket, the wool un-dyed, leaving it a marbled grayish white.

"M' people see me fit ta' m'ke mah own d'cisions on who I l've. As long as I h've P'ter as m' lineage, th'y are c'ntent. 'N m' f'mily...? Well. I don't th'nk they'd care much..." Berwald spoke stiffly, his glare hardening against his pale face.

"Oh? Why wouldn't they care?" Tino asked, remembering what Nikolas had said about Berwalds mother. About how she was so obsessed with her son marrying a nice Swedish girl that she would make beautiful gowns for her daughter-in-law-to-be. It left a sore spot in Tino's heart, knowing that he would never be first pick for their son's bride. But, like Nikolas said. He was the one wearing the robe now.

The Finn was more than certain that if Berwald's mother ever caught word of her son marrying a man—and a Finnish man at that! Well, he could just imagine the stoney eyed mother of the Swede lash out at him and kick his little medical rump out of the castle door—or whatever Berwald's parents lived in...

Berwald walked over to the Finn and held the blanket up with his arms, spreading it like it was a giant tapestry for the Finn's eyes only. Berwald then, with a grunt, looked away, his jaw clenched.

Tino, understanding that the giant was beckoning him out of the water, quickly dunked his head into the boiling hot spring and shook his head like a dog, his breath gasping.

After his hair was soaked and as clean as it was going to get, he, making sure the Swede was not looking, hopped from the edge of the well and snuggled himself into the blanket. He quickly began to shiver as the cold air bit at his face and shoulders, making his teeth clench.

Berwald held him close, scrubbing the wooly material of the blanket over the Finn's shuddering body, mindful to not impose upon the Finn's personal space too much.

But Tino didn't mind. Taking Nikolas's words to heart he treated himself in being held by the warm embrace of the giant. Appeasing his feelings slowly surely wouldn't hurt him. If Berwald was as loving and noble as he seemed, then the Finn had nothing to worry about... At least he hoped.

Once Tino's skin was dry and toasty warm the Swede went over to the ash tree that was laden with the Finn's clothes, Tino following close behind, his wet feet making smacking noises as they walked along the mulled stone.

"Hey... You still did not answer my question... You say your parents would not care of your choice of a bride..." Tino said as he awkwardly began to dress himself, Berwald carefully handing him the clothing as the Finn thrust his legs into his trousers, his back turned to the Swede for added comfort and privacy.

"I doubt very much that they _wouldn't_ care. Why would you say that...?" Tino asked as he gripped the woolen cloth of the blanket to his thin shoulders, the coarse material of the wool making his back itch.

"'Cause they're dead." Berwald mumbled out, his voice a smooth noise that sounded like he wasn't really all there. Tino paused, covering his naked chest from the giant before he turned to look at Berwald, his eyes wide.

"Oh...Oh! _Oh_... I'm so sorry..." Tino mumbled, blinking back his wide violet eyes.

Berwald shrugged, handing the Finn his tunic shirt which Tino took with slow hands.

"Was a long t'me ago. I'm f'ne w'th it now..." Berwald hummed with a sigh, his back bending down to pick up Tino's boots, the Finn tying the last of the knots of his tunic with deaf fingers.

"You never forget the death of your parents, I should know, mine died when I was eight..." Tino mumbled mournfully, his eyes sliding into a cloudy violet that made Berwald take notice.

"How'd yer's die? If ya' don't mind tellin' meh...?" Berwald mumbled, sitting down on the pine log from before, the wet wood a bit uncomfortable but he ignored it. Hearing Tino was much more important right now, Berwald could endure some discomfort.

Tino sighed and lightly slipped his wet soled feet into his warm goat slippers, the leather half soaked from the floor of the hot spring.

"My mother and father died of an illness. A horrible illness that made their skin turn as yellow as paper and their eyes as sunken as if they were from the grave... I was sent to live with Nikolas. My relatives were afraid I too would catch the mysterious disease." Tino sighed out bitterly.

"But I didn't fall sick. I was strong and healthy and, when I learned that early in the morning my parents past away... I vowed to devote my talents, my skills, to healing." Tino let a small smile flicker over his face.

"That's why I can't stand to see Peter ill. It's like I'm reliving my helplessness when my parents died. I never want to see another person I love in pain and agony from something that I can cure..." Tino trailed off, his eyes becoming distant, mouth parted into a low sounding sigh. He turned slowly to Berwald, his face sincere.

"What happened to your parents? Natural causes?" Tino asked as he slipped his hands along the tough and weighty material of the robe, the garment feeling stiff with steam and water.

Berwald shook his head and placed his hands on his knees, his back hunched.

"Far fr'm natural..." he growled out, his fingers clenching along the thick material of his tunic. Tino furrowed his brows into a worried look, his hands sliding into the sleeves of the robe, tucking the edges of the tunic against the warm cloak.

"What happened to them?" Tino asked with a soft whisper of breath as he looked at the man that seemed to be deep in thought. Berwald lifted his stormy gaze to Tino's before he sighed with a pained breath from his lungs.

"Th'y were m'rdered..."

**...**

**OH SNAPSKY! Actually that was kinda predictable but eh... I feel really nervous! I feel like I just damn well rushed Tino's acceptance of Berwald! *bites nails***

**Well anyway a lot of Authors Notes because you guys said you liked the Mythology shizz, oh and the next chapter is one of my favorites! (So get ready for some heavy Danish and Finnish myth's broskii's!) Hee hee!**

**Authors Notes: **

-Tino groaned. All around his eyes was a soft light that dribbled down before him, like butterfly's wings that embraced him slowly. It was a golden and hazy light, like the color of Idun's youthful apples.***-'Idun' was a Goddess married to Bragi, the God of poetry. She holds the Golden Apples of Youth in her keeping. The apples are the enchanted fruit that keeps them young and handsome and beautiful. **

-It surely meant that Tino was in the land of the dead. Whether he ended up in the damp clutches of Hel or the hall of the slain in Valhalla, Tino did not know.***-'Hel' is the Norse version of 'Hell'. It is cold and damp and instead of the devil, it is ruled by the daughter of Loki who is named Hel. 'Valhalla' translates to 'Hall of the Slain' and is a great Hall that is ruled by Odin where the Einherjar (Dead warriors) fight, feast, and awaited the end of the world. **

-For why would the Gods wait and revive a poor lost soul who had fallen from the land of Midgard? Even Thor himself, kind to many peasants and farmers, was not _that_ kind to the poor mortals that roamed the middle worlds...***-'Midgard' is the Norse term for the world of men. Thor himself was one of the most famous Gods as he was Odin's son and he was most liked by mortal men because he protected them from Trolls and giants with his hammer. **

-No, he was not dead. He had not been left to be ripped to shreds by the dead that lay underneath the dank and dark misty lands of Niflheim.***-'Niflheim' is the realm of freezing mist and darkness. Hel resides within it's dank clutches.**

-Tino whirled his head around, his eyes as wide as the wheels on Thor's mighty chariot.***-Thor, often called the charioteer, had a small chariot pulled by his two horned goats. **

-"Are you to tell me that the scars have all heaved off his body? That his nose that runs like the great river Iving has suddenly stopped? That his chest, so burdened with sour breath and heaving with strained life is now fit to run a mile without sweat breaking across his brow?"***-The 'Iving' river is a wide stream that divides Asgard (Home of the Gods) from Jotunheim (Home of the Giants—not not the baseball and football team!) It is a river that never freezes. **

-"I gave him a bath and dressed him in a fresh pair of clothes. I also gave him some crushed apples and grapes to curve his hunger and dressed his scars with a mustard seed paste that should help to keep the fungus at bay."***-Ringworm is indeed a fungus, nor a worm. I know, I got confused too. A herbal cure to help get rid of ring worm is to use a mustard seed paste—the infected person should also stay on a fruit diet for at least five days**!

-"Just a few more cups of that tea and some ice wrapped in cloth for my jaw and I'll be as strong as the sun on Midsummer's morning!"***-'Midsummer' is a a festival of the summer solstice. It is one of the lesser Sabbats of the pagan religion but still mounds of fun! It is still celebrate by non-pagan folk all over Scandinavia, but it's meaning has changed drastically except in Sweden where they still keep a huge amass of the old traditions in the holiday. **

-Tino recognized it as the beautiful Goddess Freyja ridding atop her golden boar Gullinbursti.***-Freyja was the main Norse Goddess of love. Gullinbursti translates to 'Golden-bristled'. He was the Golden boar made by two dwarfs for Loki to give to the God Freyr. **

-Tino nearly cried out, his face as fiery as the burning leaves on a Valborg night.* **-'Valborg' is a festival still practiced in Swede and Finland. It is when the leaves of fall are kept and burned during summer to welcome the sun. **

-"You are as conniving as Loki himself—do you know that cousin?"***-Loki was the Trickster God in Norse Mythology, but as the myths grow and more stories are being told about the Gods and their feats, Lokie stops being mischievous and starts being dangerous. There was not instances in which he was ever really worshiped as no one wanted anything to do with him. He fathers three offspring, the daughter that minds the gates of Hel, a viscous wolf who will swallow Odin whole, and a serpent who bites his own tail round the world and spits venom during the end of the world. He himself has killed Balder by tricking blind Bragi, and it will be he who will lead an army of the dead against the Gods during the end of the world...What a Dick! **

-"Average measurements for a Swedish woman."***-I don't want to offend any of you beautiful Swedish women out there but you girls are freaking tall! I was looking over records from viking burials and bones and it states that Swedish men and women along with Danish men and women were actually the tallest of the Scandinavians. No joke! Norwegian's were a close third.**

-Tino gazed stiffly at his cousin to see Nikolas holding up a long chain of keys, each one jingling, laced with gold that gleamed with a bright twisting of light.***-I really have no clue what the freaking keys are for—but they did place them around a women's neck and waist to a promised bride! I have proof! In Myth 14, **_**The Lay of Thrym**_**, a giant named Thrym steals Thors hammer and he will only give it back for Freyja's hand in marriage. The Gods, so upset, try to find a way to get the hammer without having the Goddess wed to a giant. So what do they do? They dress Thor up as a woman and pus KEYS of his waist and give him a robe and a bridal veil. Needless to say, he tricks the giant and as soon as he enters his hall, takes his hammer and kills him. Yeah for cross dressing Gods!**

-"Nonsense. You look beautiful—more fit for a bride then any Swedish women from Västmanland to Halland!"* **-'V****ä****stmanland' and 'Halland' are provinces in the old states of Sweden, what is still referd to today as 'Götaland'.**

- "We c'll it, '_Fimbulthul_,' after th' r'vers th't spr'ng from th' c'uldron of _Hvergelmir_..." ***-'Finbulthul' is one of the many rivers that springs from the cauldron of Hvergelmir that lies in Hel. The river is always frothing and bubbling and spitting steam. No mortals horse would dare cross it without bucking and rolling it's eyes. **

-"Why would you name such a peaceful spring after such a rotting well under Yggdrasill's root in Niflheim?"***-This is the last time I explain Yggdrasill. It was a huge ash tree that suspended all the words of the Gods, the Mortals, and the dead. Before the world ends two mortals will hide in its branches and repopulate the earth. Niflheim is the freezing land where Hel resides. **

-But—no Viking would ever break such an oath lest they wanted to have tier blood sucked from their bodies by the wicked dragon Nidhogg.***-Oaths are taken seriously in Viking times yo', no joke! It was said that oath breakers, when they died, where dragged to Hel and had their blood sucked from their joints by the giant and rotting dragon Nidhogg.**

-He promised himself he would stop wallowing in his uncertainty and by all the Gods in _Asgard _he would do just that!***-Asgard (Home of the Gods)**


	8. The Young Man From Halland

**Hey girls and boys! Thanks for all the reviews and feedback! I do not own Hetalia, if I did, Sweden would be naked alllllllll the time! Thank you to **MalinChan**, **yotzie **and **Ruusu **for being my awesome Swedish/Finnish translators! Much love to you guys, you crazy Scandinavian's you!**

**It's going to get a bit more heavy with sadness and Mythology before it lightens up (And eventually gets sad and bloody) and before Mathias makes the atmosphere all happy and goofy again! (By the way, I love Russians! My boyfriend is Russian and I have no qualms with people from Russia—it just so happens that Sweden and Finland were not great friends with the Slavic's in history! So please, I mean no offense.)**

*****ALSO! Still lookin' for that Awesome Danish Translator...**_**B**__**ehage dig smukke Danskere**_**?** **(See? See how bad I need a translator?)**

**SO PLEASE REVIEW—THE DOLPHINS ARE BACK! OH SWEET MOTHER OF PEARL-SEND REVIEWS! QUICK! (Thank you!)**

…**...**

Tino stared up at the quiet giant with wide and glassy eyes. His breathing had all but stopped in his throat as he clutched the material of the robe for support, his head feeling dizzy. He looked to the man whose eyes told nothing—they were as unreadable as the flat and simmering ocean. Deep, but unmoving.

"Murdered? I'm so sorry..." Tino whispered with a small parting of his lips, his hands wrapping the coarse material of the robe closer to his shivering shoulders, only to realize that he was wearing the coat that Berwald's dead mother had made. That his mother had painstakingly sewn before her untimely death...

Feeling a bit awkward at this thought, he set himself down on the log beside Berwald, wincing as the wet steam from the bench bit into the robe to nestle under the crook of his knees. After shifting a bit in his seat he did his best to look the giant in the eye, his lips faltering, trying to come up with something to say to ease the giants pain, to perhaps comfort him. But he just couldn't for the life of him find the words...

Tino, knowing it wouldn't mean much, gripped the giants hands that were placed on his knee in his own. Berwald looked up as Tino gave a friendly squeeze to the man's slender fingers, earning him a grunt of thanks from the Swede before Berwald looked away.

"Did you perhaps want to talk about it? Talking about my parents death with Nikolas made me feel better..." Tino mumbled, trying his best to appear a bit more friendlier. He knew how hard it must have been for the Swede to get over his parents deaths... It took Tino a good two years to even smile and laugh like he used to after his Mother and Father died. The Finn was so distraught that wouldn't eat, he wouldn't sleep, he wouldn't go outside and play in the warm sunshine. It was Nikolas who nursed him back to health and who gave him a shoulder to cry on. The Norwegian may be a bit frosty and cold on the outside, but inside he is just as kind as any man. He helped Tino regain his bearings from such a heavy loss, and now it was Tino's job to do the same for Berwald. He at least owed that to the man, seeing how Berwald had been—though glaring and grumbling like some lion—kind enough to give the Finn some space after he all but ran away from his destiny, his fate.

In the world of the Norsemen one can not hope to ever escape their destined fate... So why should he try to escape his? Tino bit his lip. He wanted to talk to the man that was seated next to him. He wanted to know all about him, because then, if he knew what the man that had captured his heart was really like, then it might make loving him easier. He only hoped the Swede was willing to open up just as much as he was willing to listen.

Berwald mulled over the prospect of talking to the young Finn about his parents death. Tino was his bride, his wife, so wouldn't it make sense for the young Swede to confide in his hearts troubles like he had never done before to another human being? Oh sure, he had told others of his families death. Had mentioned it to Nikolas and Mathias—well. He barely mentioned it to the boisterous Dane, but who could blame him for holding his tongue in _that_ man's presence?

Tino was his wife, the only person besides Peter that had ever gotten this close to him... Perhaps, he could just let his sorrows flow...? Then maybe the wounds of that horrible day would leave his mind? Berwald paused and thought about it, deciding if he really did want to re-open those painful scars.

Tino, worrying about the giants sudden frigid silence, cleared his throat, his hand on Berwald's fingers, warming slightly from the hot and calloused skin of the Swede. Berwald, eyes trained on the wet stones on the floor, didn't move. Only his nostrils flared as he breathed quietly, as if he were in his own little world. A world that Tino desperately wanted access into.

Tino bit the inside of his cheek before he regained enough courage to speak again, this time his voice like a thin whisper that sounded like the wind passing through the thin branches of pine trees.

"Um... You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to... I mean, I don't want to pressure you..." Tino began but was cut off by a low grunt.

"It was three ye'rs ago..." he rumbled, his head still sunken to the floor, but his great and flashing gaze moved to the corner of his eyes, his glare stiff and alert, as if he was guarding himself.

Tino took a shuddered gasp at the intensity of those eyes before he sank back in his seat, wrapping the warm cloak around his shoulder, the robe rubbing against his cold flushed face comfortingly. He needed comfort tonight, there was no denying that.

Berwald, seeing genuine interest in his little wife's eyes, urged his voice to continue, his mouth gutting out the words with a slow movement of breath as if even forming the consonance hurt his throat. Gods it has been a long time since he thought about those memories, even longer since he's spoken the words that bit at him like a viscous snake. But Tino wanted to hear them, so, the Swede put his hurt aside, and began to let his mumbled words flow.

"M' f'thers n'me was Göter n' m' m'thers n'me was Evelina. M' f'ther ruled over th' second largest k'ngdom of th' three Swedish states of _G__ö__tlana_ under th' clan name a' Oxenstierna... He ruled fair an' well an was l'ked by th' other Chieftains of th' _Norrland_ an _Svealand_ k'ngdoms. Everythin' was f'ne an' happy..."* Berwald rumbled, his voice growing into a distant humming sound that made Tino look up at him with worried and vitrified eyes. Tino bit his lip and knew it must be hard for the giant to speak so much in one day, but he very much liked to hear more, the giants low and grumbling voice actually sounding comforting to the Finn, like a low beat from a drum. Though he was sure, as the words were being said more in depth, he would loose the sudden comfort and feel as much hurt as Berwald did from the unearthed memories.

"_G__ö__tlana_...? I've heard that name before—your father was a very famous leader in the Swedish states! He helped to form this whole country, did he not?" Tino asked, tapping his slipper against the puddled water, making soft splashing noises with his toes. His eyes were wide as he watched the Swede's sullen face.

"Mhhh..." Berwald grunted as he licked his chapped lips, his eyes flickering back to the floor, feeling heavy in his skull. A weighty feeling that he admitted he cared not much for.

"L'ke I said, m'f'ther was well l'ked. One day he was s'ught at council by Lord Svear—th' ruler a' _Svealand_..." Berwald sighed and closed his eyes, his fingers rubbing against the cold skin of his chin, the little bit of whiskers on his jaw reminding him of his fathers golden beard and how Berwald used to play with it with childish hands, tugging on it and making his Pappa laugh. He swallowed harshly and continued talking with stifling effort as the words and memories pained him so.

"M'f'ther and m'ther both made preparations ta' leave _Halland_—our province—ta' ride through th' forest a' _Tiveden_ that was th' boundary of land th't separated th' two states. Th'y picked there fastest horses, hitched th' carriage up, an' went off to the North..."* Berwald sighed, a misting of pain flowing over his eyes like milky venom, his voice sounding a bit more spiteful.

"M'm'ther kissed m' brow n' told meh ta' look after the Hall, ta' water th' animals and prepare a feast with wine fer when they returned..." Berwald clenched his jaw tight, his fingers underneath Tino's hands clenching against the cloth of his knee.

"They never c'me back..." He growled out with desperation.

Tino's eyes furrowed with sadness as he waited for the great lion of a man to continue, lightly squeezing his fingers in his if only to give the man some comfort. He couldn't bare to see the Barbarian look to grief stricken and pain-filled. It hurt too much to even think that a man of Berwald's stature and power could just as easily crumble because of the cruelty of the world that was bestowed on man.

"I got word th' night after they left that something went wrong... Th' King a' _Svealand_ who was awaitin' their arrival said that m' parent's never came ta' his Hall...Th' servants came inta' m'room an' said that two of th' horses from the wagon were trottin' round th' gates, tossin' their heads—their leather cinches ripped, bridles torn from th' throat latch..." Berwald took a shaky breath as he looked up to the misty clouds that blew against the stars, making the light around them twist and fade like cruel shadows.

"I made a search party, left th' gates a' _Halland_ and rode on m' horse with some men ta' _Tiveden's_ forest edge hopin' ta' find em...What I saw... I'll never fer'get..." Berwald spoke quietly, his eyes staring at nothing in particular, too caught up in the horrible memories that flew from his lips like acidic bile.

"Blood. Blood was everywh're. On th' tree's, drippin' from th' leaves, on th' curtains of th' carriage... one a' th' horses had his legs broken an was a bellowin' and a howlin' on th' clipped ground, th' other poor beast had his throat slit open, fly's rollin' on his eyes..." Berwald shut his eyes tight and breathed in and out through his nose. Tino all the while rubbing the man's fingers with his own, trying to sooth him as he spoke. The Finn's own lashes slid shut over his violet gaze, the mental images that crashed into his brain too much to bare. But he would endure, he would endure for the Barbarians sake.

"We looked in th' carriage—th' bodies weren't there... We searched the boulders ta' th' left... Not a sign. Finally I went up N'rth a ways n' found em...What was left of em, anyway..." Berwald sighed, his shoulders heaving.

"They had been left on th' ground a little ways fr'm th' wagon... All I remember was that they didn't really look like m' Mamma an' Pappa...They were just...red. So sticky n' red..."

Tino squeezed the man's arm and looked into his eyes, trying his best to say how sorry he was just with his gaze. His own lip quivered and he felt he would be sick, but he stomached it. He could be brave, now was the time to show it.

"Who killed them...?" Tino asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

Berwald seemed to bite into his teeth as he answered, the words coming out like a hiss.

"On there bodies was a shield, a bit above their..._heads_. It was painted with gold 'n black, th' shape of a two headed Eagle in th' middle of it..."

Tino's eyes widened as his lips slipped open, a scathing hot gasp flowing out of his mouth.

"The Slavic's crest..." Tino mumbled, more to himself than to Berwald. The giant nodded, pushing his palms into his knees, heaving himself up from the misty wet bench before he wiped the back of his trousers and tunic with a smack of his hand.

Tino followed suit, his own knees and thighs annoyingly wet. The young Finn stood himself up and clutched at the robe that was in danger of slopping into a puddle. He didn't expect the Swede's voice to break the silence of the night, but sure enough, Berwald's harsh voice broke over the hissing of the welled spring, his hands lightly leading Tino down the flag stone, the light from the moon drinking into their eyes.

Tino couldn't help but blush at the touch of the Viking's hands. Perhaps Viking courtship was not as different as the Finn's...

"I took th' title a' Chieftain when I was eighteen. It was hard work, but I was well aided by m' f'thers friends 'n d'plomats. But then we got word from our m'ssengers that th' Danes had sent us an urgent plead for help. Never l'ked th' Danes, so I ignored it..." Berwald spoke, his voice sobering up from his sorrow a little bit, replacing it with the fine inklings of annoyance.

"Then an'ther m'ssenger came into our lands, carryin' a peace treaty an' a alliance a' war against th' country ta' th' East." Berwald set his jaw in a tight scowl at the mention of the land to the far East. Tino himself had heard news of the Russian's—they were just as cruel as the Swedes—though they hardly showed it except for rare occasions, nothing that really endangered the on-goings of Scandinavia. They mostly stuck to themselves, setting up trade routs along their borders... But Tino did also know that they had a famous army. Who headed it he did not know, but he did remember what the young Swedish soldier had said to him today, something about 'Ivan the Terrible'...?

"I was still young, didn't know how ta' run m'f'thers land... getting' into a war was th' last thing I wanted, so I told th' Danes '_no_'..." Berwald said simply, helping Tino slide his feet down the crags of rock that led to the now spongy earth, drenched with water from the flowing steam and mist of the forest. He lightly pressed his hands against a crooked tree bough that was in their way, flattening it to a boulder, letting the Finn pass ahead of him like the fine gentlemen that the Swede was.

"R'ssia had never att'cked Swedish land before an' they were always peaceful n' cooperative w'th trade... But a l'ttle after I refused th' Danes alliance treaty, there were reports a' th' Swedish trade routs along th' _Ivalo_ F'nnish city bein' att'cked..."* Berwald hardened his gaze, Tino listening more intently at the mention of his homeland. He knew too, that the Swedes had quiet a bit more rights to Finnish land than most Finns—leaving a hardening spot in his heart that welled with a bit of annoyance. But—if he was to be Berwald's wife and take the responsibilities of _Damen Lejon_, well, he could make his own laws to help the people of Finland... Perhaps being the wife of such an influential man would not be so bad—so long as he got his say in the law making of their government as well.

"I was scared... I was new at runnin' a state an' didn't know how ta' keep th' Swedish an' Finnish trade routes open...So, I decided to t'ke th' aid a' th' bratty leader a' th' Danes..." The Swede grumbled out sourly, making his way ahead of Finland in case a bear or a startled deer should find their way in front of them. Better he be hurt than Tino, he realized

"Mathias? You sighed the alliance with _him_?" Tino blanched, already finding that he and Berwald both rather disliked the rude and obnoxious man. _Well, at least we have common ground there_, Tino thought as he stepped carefully along the frothy mass of trees, the bonfire from the camp already coming into slight view.

Berwald sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he nodded.

"_Ja_. I signed th' treaty with th' damn bastard, n' now he th'nks he can encroach on m'land 'n on m' states resources..." Berwald sighed out tiredly, a bit of annoyance still grating through his voice.

"Th't was a long t'me ago though, an' now we're st'll fightin' th' vulture-like Russians..." Berwald murmured with anger before his footing stepped and trudged on the villages dusty ground as they slowly made their way to the fires light that was still a far ways away.

"But let's not talk 'bout that now... We h've a feast in yer honor, best be t'me ya' enjoyed it..." Berwald spoke, his voice calming some. But Tino was all _but _calm. The Finn's eyes widened as he remembered that he had a fated meeting with the lot of Swedish and Danish vikings. He only prayed to the Gods that they wouldn't tear his damn throat out! He had no sudden urge to wake up with a Bloodied Eagle ripped through his chest—or, should he say, _not wake up_.*

Berwald noticed the frightful look in Tino's eyes, the Finn visibly shaking as he slowed his pace, wishing to postpone his death by embarrassment and or be-heading as best as he could. Berwald, furrowing his brow, lightly pressed his hand to Tino's shoulder, nudging the Finn almost under his arm as he held him close, still walking down the darken and dew poured path.

"Don't worry. I won't let 'em hurt ya. They'll be l'ke tame wolf pups an' lion cubs..." Berwald assured himself. Well, perhaps he was assuring _himself_ more than Tino. He was not exactly convinced that the two tribes would act completely civil. There were many reasons to this, the main one being that the Swedes and Danes just always seemed to have it out for one another since the beginning of time, when Ymir gave life to all with his sweat and breath.*

But another, more, lewd reason was probably the fact of the lack of flesh in the makeshift village.

There was a lack of women in the camp and though some men in the tribe did not find their relief with a woman's body, many did. But since there was a lack of maidens, the men have been getting cranky and wild, taking out their frustration for flesh by slicing men in half on the battle field.

But what really bothered Berwald was, though Tino was his bride, the Finn looked awfully feminine, even if the Swede knew Tino would angrily disagree. The Finn had just enough curve to his face, flesh on his hips, and long lashes with bejeweled eyes to make even the most straightest man take a second gawk at him. Whose to say one man would not step out of line, out if his rank to even _dare _to speak to Tino with wooing words?

Berwald gritted his teeth. He would have to guard his wife well tonight. He was sure most of the men would be drowning their war sorrows and dressing their wounds with ale and hard mead, and that only worried him more. He sighed out through strained teeth. It was going to be a long night for them both.

"I l've ya. Won't let anyone touch ya'." Berwald assured Tino again, well, mostly assured himself. They were just rounding the pen of the billowy sheep when the ewes, frightened of their presence, ran from the two men with sleepy kicks of their feet, Tino and Berwald paying them no attention.

No, what the Finn DID pay attention to, was what the Swede just said. He shifted nervously, a fiery red blush on his face that boiled down to his heart, smelting some of the lock hard chains on his captured and imprisoned love for the Swede.

"How—how can you say so easily, with such quick breath, that you '_love me_'..." Tino mumbled, wrapping the warming coat that Berwald's mother made round his shoulders. He hid his face in the folds of the robe, feeling the cold metal keys round his waist dully dig into his hips.

Berwald seemed to pause at the question, his footsteps quieting as they rounded the last of the sheep pens, the animals all too happy to see them go, their white eyes rolling, mouths bleating.

Tino waited patiently with the giant, the Finn folding in on himself as Berwald leaned against a smoothly shaven wooden hitching post, his long fingers playing with the metal hoop connected to the wood.

"'Cause... Yer' my w'fe..." Berwald answered simply, looking at Tino steadily, truthfully. Tino's face bit into a flushed crimson, his eyes blinking wide, like the moon above their heads that bled a milky white.

"I am _not_ your wife! Least not yet—and I prefer the term husband, anyway!" Tino growled out with stubborn defiance until he caught himself, remembering what Nikolas had told him. _I have to stay calm. I can't freeze the locks on my heart after all the effort I put into making Berwald open up, making __**myself**_ _open up... I just have to stay calm..._ Tino kept repeating in his brain, Un-clenching his fingers from their resistant position on his waist, he looked back at the giant whose eyes were careful, smooth and blinking.

"But yer beaut'ful. Wives 'er supposed ta' be beaut'ful..." Berwald hummed, his words sounding like sound reason to him. Tino couldn't be the husband, he was just too pretty. Berwald had to be the husband because he was not. It made perfect sense, at least in his mind.

Tino's face, if even remotely possible at this point, grew even redder, his ears tipped blood-red as he shamelessly blushed.

"So it's only my 'beauty' that makes you want me as your wife..." Tino mumbled out with skepticism, his words sounding a bit more acidic than he'd like. But if the only reason the Swede brought him to this Gods forsaken war camp was because he was a little easy on the eyes—well. Then Maybe Berwald wasn't the noble and kind man that he once thought he was. He simply could not love a man who only wanted him for his...flesh. Tino shivered. No, that would not do.

"Not just yer beauty...It's cause yer _you_..." Berwald insisted, his voice growing soft as he lifted himself from the hitching post, his fingers lightly brushing against the Finn's cheeks, pushing away a strand of wet hair from his forehead, tucking it behind his ear.

Tino was proud of himself that he actually didn't flinch from the touch, but that he only blushed a little, his feet shifting against the wet earth.

"If I cared so much 'bout beauty, I could have m'rried somethin' else..." Berwald spoke with a whisper, his thumb gliding gently and lovingly over the Finn's smooth and reddened cheek. Tino flicked his eyes to the ground, too embarrassed with the way the conversation had turned to even speak.

"I could marry a butterfly—but his sh'nnin' wings wouldn't be as beaut'ful as yer violet eyes..." Berwald spoke evenly, his voice enticing Tino to look into the Swede's own stormy and stern eyes, watching with bated breath as they began to soften like the rolling waves of a bubbling ocean. The words caressing him like velvety waves...

"I could marry a dove—but her soft and fleece-like feathers wouldn't be as beaut'ful as yer sweet smellin' hair..." Berwald's fingers lightly ran though the Finn's soft locks, making a sigh slide from the Finn's lips before he could catch it, startling himself into a quiet stupor.

"I could marry a cat—but his lullaby mewls wouldn't be as beaut'ful as yer c'lming and gentle voice..." He smiled, his eyes melting their glassy sharpness to show a gentle, kinder gaze.

Tino, not sure what to say at this point, slowly began to shake himself from his stupor and take a quick and sobering breath of air. Then, his cheeks burning like fire, he began to walk down the dew soaked path, his eyes furrowed, blush ringing bright against his face. Berwald's stride quickly falling into place besides him.

"S'rry If I startled ya'... Didn't mean ta'..." Berwald spoke quickly, trying to read the Finn's face to see if he was indeed mad at him for what the Swede had said. But Tino surprised him by slowing his pace and looking up into the Swede's eyes. A confused pout was still laid across his lips, but his eyes were warm, if not a bit abashed.

"No—I'm sorry. It's just, I'm not used to getting such...flattering compliments..." Tino confessed, rubbing the back of his head as if someone had just taken a blow to his neck. He shifted in his step, his eyes facing the ground before he even dared to look back up at the Swede.

"It's nice...Thank you. You're not so bad looking yourself..." Tino smiled, his voice thin and unsure, wondering how the Swede himself was going to take a compliment thrown in his direction.

Berwald's worried frown grew into as big as a smile that Tino as ever seen on the man—and

still it only was a twitching of lips. But, Tino, pleased by the response his words got, ran his hands up the robe, his fingers finding the smooth and curved body of the broach.

"Oh!" Tino spoke suddenly, as if he remembered something that he had forgotten. Berwald looked up at the Finn, his features confused as they continued on their path to the crackling bonfires. Already the two men could hear the boisterous laughter from the villagers as they sloshed cups of mead around in their hands, telling old war stories and crude jokes that should not be heard by the innocent ears of children.

Tino, trying to distract himself from meeting his doom in the form of a massive gathering of Viking's, grabbed at the broach gently, Berwald resting his gaze on the pin himself.

"I forgot to thank you, it's such a beautiful clasp—Nikolas told me you made it...?" Tino mumbled, his smile curving on his lips with humble wonderment at how talented the Barbarian before him was at carving such beautiful trinkets.

"Mhh... was nothin' really. Hard part was getting' th' stones on... Had ta' use crushed fish bone p'ste ta' make it stick...Awful smellin' stuff that is..." Berwald retorted, scrunching up his face, his nose wrinkling the giants face immediately. Tino laugh with humor, the first real sincere laugh that hes had in the Swede's company. It felt nice...

"Well thank you, it's beautiful. I didn't know you Swede's were such fine carvers..." Tino mumbled out as they past by their tent that they shared, the candles from inside having long since been extinguished, leaving the leather tarps to gather shifting shadows on their walls, making the Finn shudder slightly.

Berwald, mistaking the shudder for coldness, carefully wrapped his arms round the Finn's shoulders with a grip light enough for the Finn to shove away from if he felt too uncomfortable. But Tino did not push away from the offered warmth. He didn't snuggle into it _either_, but he didn't shove it away. This surprised the Swede greatly.

"Ah..._Ja_. Us Swede's are good w'th carvin' n' sewin'. Course I don't know how ta' sew..." Berwald mumbled, his eyes scanning over the thick and pleated robe that was nestled over the Finn.

"Ya know, m' M'ther made that robe... Look's good on ya'..." Berwald complimented the Finn again, earning him another blood-red blush.

Tino all but tripped on his own feet at the Swede's words but regained his composure quickly. He twisted his fingers into the dusty robe and smile softly.

"Th-thank you... It's a very beautiful robe. Your mother must have been a wonderful seamstress to weave something so fine..." Tino spoke with a shy whisper, his fingers examining the stitching's of the cloak, marveling at the excellent care that must have gone into making such a fine piece of art.

"Hmm... She was. But just puttin' you in th' robe makes it much more beaut'ful..." Berwald said, his eyes staring ahead into the night. The stars drifted back and forth behind the clouds, peeking their light to adorn Tino's smooth face before they left it in shadows again.

Tino couldn't help but blush, his insides feeling warm and bubbly at all the compliments and attention he was getting. But at this rate, if the Swede kept up such a honeyed tongue, Tino's face might stay permanently crimson!

"Stop! I fear you will forever make my face the shade of a red rose if you don't hold your flattering speech!" Tino smiled, his voice chuckling as he walked a little faster down the dregs of dirt. Already the fire was flashing against his vision. They were getting closer. Berwald looked to him with shinning eyes, his lips twitched into a small smile.

"Th'n there would not be a prettier rose in all th' land..." Berwald replied with a whispered word, his eyes kind and soft, making the Finn blink and stutter.

Tino swallowed harshly, feeling his pulse beat wildly in his throat. _This man will be the end of my chastity..._ Tino thought with fear and a bit of longing. It wasn't fair that the Gods had gifted Berwald with such a kind heart and such a sweet appeasement of speech that was all but mangled when he wasn't using it to flatter the Finn into a stupor. The man was really weighing down hard on the chains of his heart and Tino had no choice but to let the Swede test his strength against the iron grips. Tino sighed, his blush still making his head dizzy.

"We've talked about me, now let's talk about you! Tell me something happy, no more talk of sad times in our lives. What was one of the most happiest moments in your life so far?" Tino asked, making his way through the slim path that rode up to the crackling fire. He did his very best to strike up a safe topic of conversation, something that wouldn't leave his face blushing more than it already was.

The voices ahead of them were getting louder, the people getting drunker. Tino swallowed harshly, praying to the Gods that he would make it through his feast with all his body parts in tact.

"Hmm...Happiest m'ment in m' life? Easy. Meetin' you." Berwald answered simply, his hands still clasped around Tino's shoulders.

Tino rolled his eyes, his gaze furrowing stubbornly.

"No! No! I mean before me—you don't have to win my affection simply by flattery you know!" Tino huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Berwald chuckled. "But it helps, doesn't it?" He responded, his eyes softening around the edges. If Tino looked close enough he could swear he saw some mirth in the tall giants eyes. He frowned playfully.

"Be truthful! Before you met me, what made you indescribably happy?" Tino asked, nudging the man in the rib, proving his point for the giant to be honest lest he wanted a Finnish kick to his legs.

Berwald calmed down his soft laughter before he answered, thinking quite hard about the happiest time in his life. He regretted to say that it wasn't time spent with his parents. Though kind, they were often too busy to play and talk to their son all that much, so he rarely ever got alone time with them that didn't include an important meeting with the other neighboring leaders...No, it wasn't his parents...

What made him happy...? Hunting wasn't his favorite thing to do, though it did put food on the table and kept his people well fed. He never liked wrestling much, nor racing... Sword play was fun—till someone got hurt and lost a leg... No, none of these things made his heart sing with contentment...

Then, with a click of his mind, he found what made him happiest.

"_Blixnedslag_." He spoke, his eyes warming considerable, his feet trudging along the cold earth a little bit faster. Already the dew clung to his boots and the smell of roasting meat wafted it's way to his nose, making him lick his lips in hunger.

"Blixed-_what_?"Tino hissed, his eyes bearing unleashed confusion as he all but gave up even trying to say the Swedish word that the man had even uttered.

"Blixnedslag—means 'lightnin'-strike' in Swedish..." Berwald clarified. Tino's eyes widened.

"Oh..._Oh_? You like lightning? That's funny—I rather hate the claps and flashes of it myself..." Tino confided, his shoulders shaking slightly from the mention of the horrible feat of bright light that Mother nature could sometimes throw down upon the land of men.

Berwald shook his head. "_Nej_. I don't mean actual lightnin'. M'pony... 'er name is 'Blixnedslag'." Berwald clarified as he looked at the Finn as his violet eyes rounded to understanding.

"Oh! Your pony! So, you like to ride? I myself can't ride a horse to save my life." Tino chuckled lightly.

"I know." Berwald grumbled, his eyes regaining their sharp glare, making the Finn yelp with a shrill voice.

"Ya almost ran into a stack a' f'rewood th't was piled by th' fence. Could a' broke the ponies legs n' yer neck... Good th'ng I heard ya yellin' down th' pass. Stopped th' pony myself..." Berwald said, his voice sounding very disapproving and angry, making Tino fidget in his steps.

"You...you stopped the pony...?" Tino asked quietly, his voice resounding with disbelief. Berwald nodded curtly.

"Stepped in front 'a th' l'ttle th'ng...Made 'em rear—but after a bit a' sweet words he calmed down... What were ya' doin', jumpin' over a fence like that?" Berwald asked seriously, his voice taking on a stern tone as he looked back at Tino with sea-storm eyes that made the Finn's chest grow tight with fear. He did not like being at the end of that glare. Not one bit.

Tino looked up at the man with a sheepish smile. "It wasn't _exactly_ my fault you see... I tried to get that stubborn old pony to go _through_ the opened gate instead of damn well _over_ it, but he wouldn't listen! He fought me the whole way!" Tino spoke, his voice sounding a bit irritated at the mention of the dapple gray pony that was almost his undoing.

Berwald raised his brows up as if he didn't believe the Finn.

"Sweet ol' Mjölk, given ya' trouble?" He asked with confusion, trying to wrangled the thought of that well-mannered old Icelandic pony even hurting a fly. It just didn't seem possible. Berwald had that little gelding in his care for more than six years now, bought him from a sweet old milk maid. There was no way such a dapper eyed animal could make such a fuss.

"More like _sour _ol' Mjölk! He nearly killed me!" Tino raised his hands up, the heavy robe weighing down on his arms, his voice heated and very insistent.

Berwald sighed, still not seeing the plausibility of such a kind little animal doing all that the Finn said he did.

"If ya want, I can t'ke ya ridin' tomorrow. Help ya get accustomed ta' th' saddle—alright?" Berwald asked the Finn. Tino grumbled, his pout still in place as he crossed his robbed arms over his chest. He bit out a sigh of sudden stubbornness before he bothered to reply to the Swedish giant.

"Fine." He muttered out sourly, turning his head away to seethe. Berwald only chuckled lightly, amused by his cute and stubborn little wife. But before Berwald could admire any more of his little wife's dogmatic cuteness, the Finn suddenly spun himself around to look at Berwald with a less hardened glare—dare he say it was almost gentle?

"But, if you are to take me ridding, before that, I want to check on Peter...I also want to look at your meat storage's!" Tino breathed with a bit of defiance as he crossed his little arms over his chest, making Berwald smile even more.

"_Ja_. Okay..." The Swede agreed softly, his eyes showing a bit more merry mirth as the Finn's professional side suddenly leaked out. His little wife sure was interesting, being so stubborn and so sweet at the same time. It made the Swede just want to hug him to him in his strong embrace—but of course, he couldn't do that. No, mustn't get distracted by his own feelings. Tino needed time to breathe. It would be best to let him instigate most of the affection from now on. Berwald sighed... If only he could just convince the Finn that his intentions were true...

Berwald looked down at the little Finn once more before he, almost cautiously, held out his arm again, this time Tino taking it without a fuss, his face pinched a dull pink with a blush. Tino sighed and let the giant of a man lead him over to the flickering fires edge that was steadily growing in power and warmth. Already he could feel the heat from those licking flames against his face. The flames that would soon engulf him whole, like a hungry monster bent on eating him with ember colored jaws that spit flames. He bit his lip and shut his eyes tight, feeling his shoulders shudder with fright.

Oh how he did not want to attend this feast! He did not want to be caught into the snare of a gathering of rough and brawny looking Vikings! They would tear him to shreds if he made even one false move! Whose to say he would not further embarrass himself by doing something to humiliate the Swedish and Danish culture? Suppose he ate something the wrong way, or made eye contact with someone that he was not supposed to? He might just get a fork stabbed into his eyes! Wait, did Viking's even _use_ forks? He groaned in his head. He couldn't do this, he just couldn't...

But...He had Berwald to protect him. He knew the Swede would not let anyone lay a finger on him—something that both comforted the Finn and scared him shitless.

Tino didn't know if he could act like a wife tonight. If he could be gentle and meek, sure yet timid in the side of all the gathered Scandinavian Barbarians. He took a tiny sip of the now warming air before he made a small peek up at the Swede whose eyes were set forward, his jaw clenched as if he too was not looking forward to the gathering.

Tino bit the inside of his cheek, his arms wrapping more snugly onto the Swedish man's arm in a gentle death grip. Berwald must have taken notice to the Finn's shy and worried face because he draped his arms more tightly around the Finn, Tino's heart speeding up like the feet of a running jack rabbit.

"Dun' worry. I l've ya, won't let anythin' happen ta' ya..." Berwald rumbled with sure breath, his eyes stern as they were a mere feet away from the first throng of drinking men.

Tino could make out the bristly maned men, their orange and blonde hair shining like copper flames in the fires light. Tino wrenched his nose in sudden disgust as he heard the rough dialect of the men, their throats swallowing huge swigs of hard mead as their jaws and teeth worked to rip hunks of meat from the bone, wiping their beards with their hands for the dogs to eat at the scraps.

Tino cringed. These men were as wild as untamed beasts!

Thankfully the Viking's backs were turned from the Barbarian leader and the timid healer, but still, their size was something to be fearful about as Tino's eyes took in the sheer mass of their bodies. The men, though hunched over drinking benches, looked to be almost as tall as the Swedish leader himself. From what the dull glow from the fire showed, they looked to be red cheeked from all the heavy drinking of ale and watered wine that they had swallowed while laughing like a bunch of gabbing hens.

Tino frowned as he felt his feet sink into the pine needled floor. Well, this was it. His fate and doom was only a few timid steps away. Tino suddenly shut his eyes tight and clamped his hands around Berwald's in a near death grip that squeezed all circulation in the Swede's arm. But Tino could care less right now. He needed comfort from any place he could get it, be he snuggled around the Swedish leader or not.

_ Berwald will protect me... Berwald will protect me..._Tino kept thinking in his mind as the Swede's heavy feet began their march closer and closer to the wooden benches and logs that supported the throng of the hulking Vikings.

Tino swallowed thickly, his eyes shinning bright and glassy against the frothing fires flames.

Then, with a deep breath of the smokey air that wafted around him, Tino, with a prayer in his heart, took those few steps that he knew would lead to his undoing.

…

_ Oh. My. Odin. _

As soon as Tino's feet shuffled along the pine needled path, a huge mass of eyes were fixed onto his shaking and trembling form. It seemed that they had, over their laughing and talking, had heard the small little footsteps of the Finn as he and Berwald made their way along the first opening of the benches, the massive fire showing itself proudly in the middle, men of Danish and Swedish descent all flocked around it, each man staying with his own kin—no one wanted to make nice, that was apparent.

There must have been a whole flock of them, fifty strong, maybe more if he actually bothered to count all the staring men—something that he dared not do, as now all their frowning lips turned into a quick smile, their teeth showing to glint in the warming flames of the bonfire. And it was all because of him.

Oh dear Gods he was going to die! He was going to get his face pushed into the growling embers of the fire and have his head speared on a pike! Maybe if he quickly made a distraction he could run away? Surely they were too drunk to chase after him? He could run into the safety of his hut, maybe Berwald could fend them off-?

Tino sighed bitterly. Now he was just being foolish.

He was a strong and able Finnish man and damnit he was going to act like it! No amount of rough looking Vikings would make his braveness sink to the bottom of his heart. It was time to screw his courage to the sticking post and endure this! He could do this, he could brave the company of Barbarians for one night... At least, he hoped he could...

The Gods knew he did not like this. He did not like this one bit. But...

But he knew that, even if there was even an _inkling_ of danger, Berwald would not have brought him here. The Swede seemed to value the Finn's life as much as his own, maybe even more.

Tino sighed. It was that sobering thought that made his eyes graze upward, his hair framing his blushing and worried face. Well, here goes nothing...

Immediately Berwald felt the little Finn next to him straighten up, his hands still painfully wedged against his arm in an attempt to not fall flat on his face as the little violet eyed man began to lead them through the barricading walls of men that, thankfully, took a few steps back as the Finn, with a harden stare and stiff movements, weaved his way against the flock of grinning men.

Tino could immediately tell who was Dane and who was Swede as he he walked through the drunken mass of men.

As soon as his feet touched the dirt laden path that went round into a circle against the fires, the group of men to the left began to lower their lips from their ladles and horns, their blue and green eyes fixed like mortar onto Tino's fright stricken face. Blonde and red hair lowered themselves to brush against the ruddy floor as the sound of cracking knees was heard as the men bowed low to the ground as Berwald and Tino passed by with careful steps.

Tino looked back up at Berwald, his brows furrowing as the many men surrounding them began to bend to the dirt like a broken wave.

The Swede only stared forward, his eyes fixed on the front of the fire where two empty throne-like chairs sat peacefully, the only means of safety and sanctuary in this strife filled feast.

Tino only wished that he could create that air of certainty and stoic power that Berwald had as soon as they began to milled their way through the mass of men.

The Swedes, as Tino was sure the men on the left were, gave out muttered words of welcoming, their lips having a hard time not splitting into a wide smile as their tall and lion-like leader made his way to the front of the fire, leading Tino along with him.

The wave of Swedes who were on bended knee slowly got back to their feet as Tino passed them with quaking step, their eyes fixing themselves on him with a gaze like that of a starved hawk. It made Tino shiver and press the side of his body a little closer to the Swedish leader.

Oh dear Gods they were going to eat him alive! He thought with fright as the glaring Swedish Barbarian led Tino to a little ways round the dancing flames. Tino bit his lip as he set his gaze forward, anything but to look into the bleeding and staring eyes of the men that curled around them.

His eyes, fixed ahead of him, suddenly caught a familiar face flickering in the fire light—two in fact. Though the second one he was admittedly less happy to see...

The dull and bored gaze of Nikolas was the first welcoming thing that the Finn had seen since he set foot on the damn feasting area! The Norwegian was sitting straight in his chair made from the honeyed colored wood that was a specialty of the Swede's. His back was like a board, his hair framing his pale face slightly as his eye lashes fluttered to Tino's own gaze. The Norwegian paused in his simple staring to curve his lips into a small satisfactory smile, his eyes lowering themselves to gaze at Tino's arms, wrapped snugly around the arms of the gentle Swede.

Tino caught that look and sent one to his cousin with a heated and nasty glare, his face boiling and heating up. He only hoped he could blame his red face on the heat and warmth of the fire, a bit embarrassed that a Swede or Dane should see his redden face. Tino bit his lip and lowered his gaze from his cousin, the Norwegian's eyes going back to their dull and opaque luster.

The fire had been stoked with dry kindling, making the sap that bled from the pine logs pop and sizzle, occasionally sending sparks flying through the huddled mass of men. The smell of roasted meat was everywhere and it made Tino realize with painful realization that he was indeed very hungry... The meager food that he had swallowed today had done nothing to quench his stomachs demands, and his eyes soon longingly found the cooking fires a ways away from the benches.

The golden and crispy flesh of a goose rolled and swung on the spit as it was baked to perfection by a simple cluster of women, the withered maids catching Tino's eye, giggling slightly before bowing to him with a dip of their heads. Tino bit the inside of his cheek, not liking this much attention all that much...

It was only when Berwald, his arm under the crook of Tino's elbow, slowed his pace that Tino realized that the two were standing before the two empty 'thrones'. The wood had been sanded down with care till it looked to be as smooth as a cats sleek fur. The arms of the chair was carved into a sloping curve as they dipped a little ways from the body of the furniture, small flickers of precious stones wedged into the wood for fine ordination. The chair that Tino was standing silently before was a bit smaller and was to the far left, sitting next to the first line of Swedish vikings who were watching with patient eyes at the two nobles who had appeared before them.

The chair, however small, was beautiful in workmanship. It was cushioned with what looked to be a stout flaxen blanket edged with threads of blues, reds, and yellows—looking absolutely soft to the touch. Lounging against the back of the Throne was a velvet like blanket that looked to be woven with excellent skill, the throw slipping and slithering against the fires light as if it had a life of it's own.

Berwald's throne was no less beautiful. The wood was darker, but just as smooth, with ringlets of carved designs that knotted and looped in a maze of wonderful carvings. A throw of something golden, with tuffs of fur, laid across the back of his chair, the animal that it belonged to the likes that Tino had never seen before. Two large stuffed and preserved paws slung put from the hide to lay with graceful silence at the edges of the chairs arms, the claws at the end of the paws glinting like sharpened obsidian, making Tino shiver. Whatever animal it was, Tino was glad it was dead. Nothing could have claws as big as a mans fingers and not stir fear into the Finn. Tino tore his gaze away from the hide, his breath quivering some.

But, before he could admire and fear the beauty of the thrones any more, he saw from the corner of his eyes someone stand up with a quick movement of cramped feet and legs. Tino turned his head to the right of him to see, to his annoyance, the mighty Chieftain of the Southern Wolves Tribe grinning up at him and Berwald. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he bowed slightly, jeeringly almost.

"_Hilsner Mægtige Løve_."* Mathias' voice broke the deafening silence that bled against Tino's ears. The Finn looked up to watch as the Dane's bright blue eyes seemed to laugh and mock with a bit of anger as the Danish leader set his gaze on Berwald.

The Swede seemed to stiffen, his ears catching the insulting tone of the man's words before he bit his teeth together. Tonight was not going to be an easy night, oh no, not for one second. Berwald thought with angry regret. Mathias just had to make everything harder with his stubborn pompousness...

"Hnn..._Hälsningar mäktiga varg_..."* Berwald mumbled out with no enthusiasm whatsoever. But Mathias didn't seem to notice or really care as he grinned back at the Swede wickedly.

Instead, he, with a hesitant movement of his hands, held out his palm, his fingers spread wide, his smile never leaving his face.

Everyone grew silent as they watched with bated breath, the only sound that filled the silence was the gentle popping of the sap burning in the wood like blood and the occasional whine from a hungry dog looking for scraps among the legs of the men.

Tino quietly stared with the on lookers, his body still very much pressed against the sides of Berwald, his teeth biting his lip into worry as he looked frightfully at the Danes outstretched hand, the glint from the fire making Mathias' white teeth look twice as dangerous as they glinted. He was not so prideful as to not take refuge with the Swede...The Danish Viking just scared him too damn much...

What did Mathias want Tino wondered, as he watch silently next to Berwald, the Swede stiff next to him.

The Swedish man's eyes narrowed as he let out a small sigh between his lips, his left hand raising ever-so-slowly to meet Mathias', his fingers flicking over to the crook of the Danes elbow as Mathias did the same till both men had a heavy set grip on each others arms at the clothed bend of the arm. Then, with forced smiles, the two men shook their hands up and down with sluggish movements, not once, but three times, entreating both the Swede's and the Danes to a breath of relief.

The crowd let out a small sigh of ease, their eyes going back to their mead as they took a well needed sip of the alcoholic honey drink. Both sides knew that anything, said or done, could turn the two tribes against one anther's throats. As much as the promise of a fight sounded exciting, this feast was not for blood shed... No, it was to welcome a new member into the strong alliance of the Swede's and Danes. The fair _Damen Lejon_ from the Land of the Finn's. Every man sobered at this thought.

Tino's eyes widened as he watched the two men shake their hands up and down in a show of welcome and peace, neither man looking too happy to touch one another, even if it was to keep the two tribes on good terms...

Then, with a quick brush of fingers, the handshake ended, both men returning their fingers to the sides of their bodies, eyes glinting sharply from the light.

Tino was about to blink his eyes back to the two men when he saw a flicker from the corner of his eyes as his cousin, Nikolas, a small crown of twisted sweet grass and pungent spearmint woven atop his head, making him look even more elegant in the fires twisting light.

Tino watched with hushed breath as his cousin, carefully and fluidly, as if his bones were made out of finer and more delicate things than marrow and tissue. No, Nikolas walked from his throne as if was the king of the Fae himself, his sullen eyes sobering themselves in the light as he walked with dainty feet to stand flush next to Mathias.*

The Dane flicked a smile towards his Norwegian bride that made Tino frown, still not liking the fact that Mathias was to wed his cousin. Couldn't Nikolas had found a more less...vocal? Man than Mathias? Tino sighed, resisting the temptation to rub his sore forehead, already feeling a head ache erupt in his head at the sound of the Danes voice.

"And now, _we_ greet..." Mathias' voice was a low slither as he took a dangerous look at Tino, his eyes glinting with sure wickedness as he all but bit out a chuckle.

In an instant Berwald's arms wrapped themselves around Tino, making the Finn gasp at the sudden contact, the Swedes arms all but constricting him.

"_Nej_."* Berwald said simply with a bit of an acidic warning. Mathias suddenly frowned, the clenching between his eyes growing some, showing that he was steadily growing angry at the Swedes refusal. Refusal for what Tino didn't know...

"Then I will not sit at this fire with you and your bride _contently_." Mathias spat out, some of the Swedes shifting in their logged seats to give a bit of a grumbled and uncomfortable shifting of their voices as the two leaders began to glare at one another with enough fright to make lightning shiver and disperse.

It was Nikolas's voice who finally broke the silent feud between the two males.

"My Lords, now is not the time to find yourselves with anger. This is a feast where all men are welcome to eat and drink as they please..." Nikolas' voice was low with warning, his steady and solid eyes letting loose a slow glare that melted onto his face, making the two tribe leaders wince slightly.

Berwald frowned but sighed with defeat, his hands loosening themselves round Tino's waist till the Finn was left standing on his own, his eyes wide and confused.

"I...I...Will someone please tell me what is the matter?" Tino asked out meekly, watching with a bit of fright as Nikolas' glare was unleashed on him.

The Norwegian, sighing, let his glare melt some, the space between his eyes still betraying the stress his body was wound up with.

"Pay heed my cousin, for this is how you greet a noble..." Nikolas bit out with stifled exhaustion as he took a few steps closer to Berwald. The Swede only stood silently, like a tall and awkward tower that was slowly crumbling from seething abashment.

Tino watched carefully as Nikolas took a bit of his robe in his hands, the Norwegian bending low with an imitation of a curtsey as he greeted Berwald with a solid look.

In return, Berwald sighed and held out his hand, Nikolas quickly slipping his own slender fingers against the Swede's lion-like paws.

Then, with a bit of awkwardness that Berwald could not hide, the Swede bent his head down to the two clasped hands and lightly, regretfully, brushed his lips against Nikolas' hands quickly before he snapped his head up, wrapping his hands once again round Tino's waist, his face stern and regretful.

Tino's mouth opened slightly, his heart twinging a bit with possessiveness and jealousy as Nikolas frowned and sighed, his cousin now stepping in front of Tino.

"Thank you Berwald, for not treating me like I had the _Bubonic Plague_..." Nikolas bit out bitterly and a bit stale at the Swede.

Berwald's nose twitched as he looked down at the floor. "Sorry..." Was all he said as he squeezed his wife's waist tighter.

Nikolas rolled his eyes before he bent his head near Tino's. Tino's eyes widened as he watched the Norwegian, the twinge of jealously at his cousin getting affection both startling him and making him feel a bit satisfied.

The Norwegian then, with a slow movement, pressed his lips to Tino's cheek in a small welcoming kiss before pulling back, his hands on his hips.

Then, with a dulled smile, he spoke."Your turn." He breathed as Mathias stepped forward.

Tino visibly blanched as the Dane smirked, his eyes winking as he held out his wide palm. Tino fought the urge to slap it away. He turned to the right of him and saw all the Danish Viking's eyes on him, watching him, waiting to catch him if he slipped up. Tino bared his teeth, feeling a new flicker of annoyance at the Danish leader.

But, with a huff of his breath, he smacked his hand against the Dane's palm, Mathias laughing softly at Tino's childish pout.

"I know when to not bite..." Mathias whispered against Tino's hand before he gave it a small chaste kiss, pulling away with mirth, Nikolas himself glaring slightly.

Tino pulled back his hand to his chest, snuggling it against his robe as if the kiss had burned him. Tino gritted his teeth before gathering up his robe and holding it to his hips, giving a small bow that slowly began to chip away at his pride. Then, with a little bit more willingness, he took a few steps towards Nikolas and pressed his lips to his cheek, pulling back with a sigh of dullness.

There. He had done it.

He looked over at the huddled mass of Danes and saw contentment in their eyes. Thankfully, they had deemed that Tino had not screwed up in some way. The Finn mentally thanked every God in the Universe for that. He did not want to give the Danes a reason to eat him alive, no thank you!

"Greetin's done, let th' mead be passed round.." Berwald's rumbling voice broke the stiff yet easy silence. Mathias nodded, his eyes still sparkling before he took his seat next to Berwald in his own chair-like-throne, the grey and blackened hide of a wolf slung along the chairs back, Nikolas' own throne cushioned with a reindeer pelt like Tino's.

Berwald then turned to Tino and offered him the chair to the left of the Swede's, the blonde and green eyed vikings moving for the timid Finn to be more comfortable, their eyes never leaving his face.

The chatter from before began to grow again, this time with more careful words and less obscene hand gestures in the presence of the two brides... But still, every eye seemed to slowly leak back to the timid Finn with a curious stare...

Tino sighed inwardly. If this was how life was going to be, with everyone staring at you as if you were growing horns out of your damn head, well... Tino bit the inside of his cheek. Then maybe this wasn't the life for him.

But.

But, he loved Berwald, no matter how much it made his face blush and his blood thicken. He loved the giant and, if it meant being stared at like some kind of rare jewel—or a bit of trash as it might well be-, well then, that was price for loving the man. Tino only hoped the price was worth it...

But before Tino could actually get comfortable in his seat, Nikolas had stood up from his own throne to stand before Tino, his eyebrows raised, arms crossed.

Tino looked up at his cousin with wide and confused eyes, his body sinking more into the chair from fright. He was about to look to Berwald for help when Nikolas held out his hands, his eyes cool and calm.

"Come." Was all he said, wriggling his fingers back and forth for the Finn to take. Tino swallowed deep in his throat before, with a bit of hesitance, took his cousin's hand in his, the Norwegian heaving him up and to his feet, Berwald watching them with careful eyes.

"I'm afraid you can not sit just yet." Tino's cousin breathed, his eyes drifting over to the low cut benches and the heavy cauldron of bubbling mead that was sitting fat and heavy on a low stoked fire.

Tino flicked his eyes open wider.

"And why not?" Tino demanded, his heart and body already tired of all these stupid customs and traditions that he was having to deal with. Damn Viking's and their damn hierarchy.

"I'm afraid there is further embarrassment you must endure..." Nikolas sighed with annoyance as he gently led Tino from the circles of the men, the Swedes and Danes raising their cups and horns as the two brides left to wander to the cooking fires.

Tino looked behind him, the gentle yet careful eyes of the Swedish Barbarian following him all the way. Tino bit his lip. He knew he was not going to like this...

….

"I must what?" Tino barked out, his voice irritable as Nikolas rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Honestly it's not that bad. I've had to do it for months now whenever Mathias has diplomats or noblemen to entertain..." Nikolas mumbled, smoothing the bone clip in his fair blonde hair.

Tino shook his head, his arms crossed over his body with stubbornness.

"I will do no such thing! I am _Damen Lejon_, I have my pride!" Tino spoke out bitterly, his violet eyes narrowing dangerously. Nikolas frowned, his face pale against the light of the moon.

"You may be _Damen Lejon_, But Berwald is _H__erre Lejon_. Whether you like it or not, he is a Chieftain and you are his bride. I wish it wasn't so, but it's only one little act. Place your pride to the sticking post and move on."* Nikolas bit out with warning, Tino shifting from foot to foot at his cousin's tone.

Tino grumbled, his eyes still venomous.

"What must I do?" Tino growled, his presence catching the eyes of a few of the working maids who were preparing the heavy slabs of meat and picked vegetables for the feast. The women giggled at the two brides before going back to their work, working salt and precious spices into the heavy and roasting slabs of meat for the feast.

Nikolas smiled humorously at his cousins defeat before, with a quick word that was most likely Swedish, the Norwegian called to his side one of the women, a quiet looking girl with a white face and jade eyes that made Tino blink. Well, if the Swedish women weren't simply gorgeous!

Perhaps this young girl would make a better bride for Berwald than Tino, the Finn thought with a bit of venom. But... He sighed. He would not lose his temper, no—that might cause more embarrassment than was needed.

Nikolas placed his hands on the girls shoulder before he smiled down at her, the girl blushing and turning her eyes away from pleased embarrassment.

"This is Kerstin. She knows a bit of Finnish, so she will help you with your task." Nikolas smiled down at the girl once more, the young little thing blinking and blushing like a Midsummer maiden.

Tino frowned. "You have still yet to tell me what exactly I must do." He mumbled out sourly, Kerstin looking up at the Finn with a bit of reverence if not fear.

Nikolas simply smiled and let go of the Swedish girls shoulder with a quick sway of his fingers.

"You are to simply bring your husband a drink, like a good little bride should. Kerstin will show you. Now, be quick, your husband is waiting." Nikolas teased, giving Tino a small smirk before he began to walk over to the frothing barrels of ale, a brown and milky colored drinking horn adorned with silver in his slender hands, the barbaric scene of a wolfs snapping jaws carved with precious metal into the drinking horn.

Tino, blushing slightly from the Norwegians words, turned back to the small and young girl who was still staring at him with wide jade colored eyes. Well, she certainly was quite, wasn't she?

"Ah...Hello, erm..._Hej_?"* Tino murmured to the girl. The Swedish maid's eyes widened and brightened as Tino spoke the familiar Swedish greeting. She took a quick bow before she too, whispered a small ''ello...' before blushing.

"So...Why must I do this again?" Tino asked quietly, biting onto his lip as he watched the girl pause, gathering her skirt in her hands.

Her pale face suddenly flushed as she smiled.

"Since th' begin' a' time th' wives give their first drink ta' their husbands. So that, if th' husband is poisoned, then they know it is th' wives doin'!" She mused, her eyes looking back to the bubbling cauldron of mead that was frothing warm and sweet smelling mist.

Tino's mouth dropped as his eyes widened sickly.

"_What_?" He hissed with anger as he tried to even fathom what the girl had just told him. So it was to make sure he wouldn't kill the damn Barbarian? Tino had never been more insulted in his life!

The girl giggled lightly, her head turning back to face Tino as she led him to the boiling cauldron of mead that was being spiced by a few kernels of clove and a few cleaves of ginger root.

"It also mean that th' mead is what quenches th' husband's thirst, a gift from his wife that represents their love—from one ta' th' other..." She explained with a sweeter voice, her braids drooping past her ears as she looked down from inspecting the frothing drink.

Tino blushed, his ears suddenly turning crimson as he let a little silent 'oh' slip past his lips.

Well, if that's what it meant... then maybe he could do it...

A quiet silence passed before the girl, her golden hair twisted into heavy braids, nodded her head and took Tino's hands lightly in hers. Her foot steps were quick and as dainty as Tino's as she climbed up a small stool that over looked the bubbling drink.

As the woman peered over the golden liquid, she smiled at Tino and grabbed at a ladle from the rim of the tub, smearing around the white and grainy gunk that had surfaced from the sizzling mass of honey. Then, with quick hands, she pressed a huge drinking horn into Tino's palms, the size of it almost longer than his arm.

"_This_? This is Berwald's drinking horn?" Tino hissed with amazement, as he held up the weighty thing in both hands. The thing alone seemed to weigh more than Tino's damn head as he cradled it to his chest. The horn was the blotchy color of black and white, the tip corked and tipped with a glove of gold, a lions head made from the sparkling metal plastered onto the middle of it. Even the rim was laden with polished gold. It looked big enough to contain the whole damn sea with still room for all the ale in the world!

Kerstin nodded, her tiny hands heaving up a heavy ladle of the thick mixture of mead as she motioned for Tino to hold the mead over the cauldron, so as not to spill a single drop.

"Is no shame 'n drinkin'. _Svenskens_ drink more than _Danskar_ if their belly and throat agree with them... Any man who dr'nk as well as _Thor_, is truly a man blessed by Gods..."* Kerstin spoke, her brows furrowed in concentration as she poured the boiling hot mixture into the drinking horn, Tino's hands warming steadily from the thick and sluggish mixture. A bit of the honey curdle was skimmed at the top, but Kerstin said that the _H__erre Lejon_ would not mind, he was not picky with his drink.

Then, Tino using all his mustered strength to carry the damn cup in his arms, looked over to Kerstin who was picking her way down the small stool that allowed her to stand above the boiling liquor.

Once she was safely on the floor, she clapped her hands together and wiped them on her apron, her eyes as bright as the misty moon that hung above them.

"Now, yoo go—give him the ale 'n all will be well." She hummed, before giving Tino another soft little smile before she turned her back on the Finn and began to pick her way over to the other women who were pulling out loafs of bread from a makeshift hearth that was pressed up against a crudely made wall.

"Tino smiled back as the girl melted in with the darkness of the night.

Thank you..." He he whispered softly as he turned on his heel and walked back to the gathered party, careful not to spill any of the drink on his shoes.

He sighed. He would play the little bride...

His pride be damned.

...

**I know I promised ya'll a bunch of Danish and Finnish myths...I promise they will be in the next chapter! The Dolphins made me do it! I swear! Reviews would be nice though, to persuade the Dolphins of course!**

Authors Notes:

-"M' f'thers n'me was Göter n' m' m'thers n'me was Evelina. M' f'ther ruled over th' second largest k'ngdom of th' three Swedish states of _G__ö__tlana_ under th' clan name a' Oxenstierna... He ruled fair an' well an was l'ked by th' other Chieftains of th' _Norrland_ an _Svealand_ k'ngdoms. Everythin' was f'ne an' happy..."***-History lesson! Yeah! So, **_**G**__**ö**__**ter**_ **was the name of the Swedish Chieftain who ruled over **_**G**__**ö**__**tlana**_**,** **Geographically it is located in the south of Sweden, bounded to the north by **Svealand**, with the deep woods of **Tiveden**, **Tylöskog** and **Kolmården** marking the border. **_**Norrland**_ **was ruled to the North, connecting with Finland, and the **_**Svealand**_ **state was in the middle, ruled by Chieftain **_**Svear**_**. The main state of Svealand was the original Sweden, which is why the country is known as **_**Konungariket Sverige**_**, 'Sve' 'land'. Land of Swede's. Get it? **

-"M'f'ther and m'ther both made preparations ta' leave _Halland_—our province—ta' ride through th' forest a' _Tiveden_ that was th' boundary of land th't separated th' two states. Th'y picked there fastest horses, hitched th' carriage up, an' went off to the North..."***- And the History lesson continues! The state of **_**G**__**ö**__**tlana**_ **had ten provinces, one being **_**Halland**_**. I had to pick this province because they were the only one with a lion on their crest ^^". **_**Tiveden**_ **was a large forest that separated **_**G**__**ö**__**tlana**_ **from **_**Svealand**_**.**

-"R'ssia had never att'cked Swedish land before an' they were always peaceful n' cooperative w'th trade... But a l'ttle after I refused th' Danes alliance treaty, there were reports a' th' Swedish trade routs along th' _Ivalo_ F'nnish city bein' att'cked..."***- During the Viking times Norway and Denmark were more um...Assholes to other countries, because they were more miltary stronger. Sweden mostly stuck to trade—although they did perform in wars and raids, they even did the last Viking Journay. But they still mostly stuck to trading. Ivalo is a Finnish city that is that is way up North, right in Finland about an equal distance from Sweden, Norway and Russia. **

-He had no sudden urge to wake up with a Bloodied Eagle ripped through his chest—or, should he say, _not wake up_.***-Shit you Scaninavians are cruel! There are many speculations that this method of tourture was a myth, but as it were, vikings actually **_**did**_ **do this to men on the battle field or prisoners of noble blood that they had managed to take prisoner. The 'Bloodied Eagle' torture method was when, after or during the battle, a prisoner would be taken captutred and laid on a slab of rock with his back to the stone. Then, the viking warrior would, in the name of Odin, take a blade and slice it through the man's chest, gutting him while he was alive and still breathing. Then, the viking would take out the man's lungs and let them lay out onto his ripped open chest. Then, none to gently, the viking would thrust out the man's rib cage and crack it backward, making the bones represent an eagles wings. The lungs would be the the Eagles body. The, if the prisoner was lucky, he would be dead from shock, if not well...*shivers* **

-There were many reasons to this, the main one being that the Swedes and Danes just always seemed to have it out for one another since the beginning of time, when Ymir gave life to all with his sweat and breath.***-'Ymir' was the frost giant that at the beginning of the world, slep in ice and snow, the sweat from his armpit creating the first Giants. After Odin and his two brothers slayed Ymir, they made the world out of his body, skull, eyes, braines, teeth and bones. **

-"_Hilsner Mægtige Løve_."***-'Greetings Mighty Lion.'-Danish. Translation is crappy...I NEED A DANISH TRANSLATOR BRO'S!**

-"Hnn..._Hälsningar mäktiga varg_..."***-'Greetings Mighty Wolf.'-Swedish. (Thank you yotzie! ^^)**

-No, Nikolas walked from his throne as if was the king of the Fae himself, his sullen eyes sobering themselves in the light as he walked with dainty feet to stand flush next to Mathias.***-'Fae' another word for 'Farie'. More of an anchient English term. **

-"_Nej_."***-'No' In Swedish. If you didn't know that...ah...**

-"You may be _Damen Lejon_, But Berwald is _H__erre Lejon_. Wether you like it or not, he is a Chieftan and you are his bride. I wish it wasn't so, but it's only one little act. Place your pride to the sticking post and move on."***-'Lord Lion'-Swedish.**

-"Ah...Hello, erm..._Hej_?"***-'Hello' in Swedish.**

-"Is no shame 'n drinkin'. _Svenskens_ drink more than _Danskar_ if thier belly and throat agree with them... Any man who dr'nk as well as _Thor_, is truely a man blessed by Gods..."***-'Svenskens' ('Swedish' in Swedish) 'Danskar' ('Danish' in Swedish). Thor-Norse God and son of Odin. In Viking times if you could drink, that was considered a skill. Men had competitions at feasts and gatherings to see who could drink the fastest in one drought. If you could not drink well...you were made fun of. Badly.**


	9. Gylfi and Gefion

_**Thank you for all the reviews! You guys are so kind! Well, as promised, there are some awesome Danish and Finnish myth telling in this chapter. ( I did my best to tell them as historically as I could based on old ballads and poems. Oh, and I love Denmark's character in this chapter, he's so freaking awesome, he made this chapter so much fun to write even if he does kinda sound like an ass!**_

_**Thank you to **__MalinChan__**, **__yotzie __**and **__Ruusu __**for being my awesome Swedish/Finnish translators! I couldn't do this without you guys! I do not own Hetalia nor it's characters. I also do not own the tale of Glyfi and Gifion as they appeared in the '**___**Norse Tales**___**' By Kevin Crossley Holland. **_

*****(**STILL looking for that Danish translator~~~3**)**

**Please give me Reviews to keep the mean Dolphins away! **I do not own Hetalia, if I did, Sweden would be naked allllll the time!

**(Let me just tell you—Viking customs are freaking exhausting!)**

…**...**

There was no way he could do this...

Tino's fingers were shaking as he held the heavy filled horn with mead against his palms, the liquid slowly warming up his flushed and already sweaty hands. So far he had managed to not spill a single drop of the honeyed drink—a feat he was more than proud of. But that all changed when his meek footsteps, desperately trying to keep their balance as his feet walked over the pine needled ground, heard the first snarling glimmers of the viking men.

His cautious footwork, without him realizing it, had led him back to the viking feasting area, where all the men, with curious stares, watched him carefully. Lips lifted themselves from silver and clay mugs, bread crumbs fell from messy beards and rough calloused fingers wiped the face clean as deep set blue and green eyes watched Tino with an air of respect as well as awe.

Each man's eyes, lingering to and fro from the Finn to the cup, smiled as they saw the cradled horn in his hands, the glimmering lion set in gold telling them who the great horn belonged to. They all grinned knowingly.

Tino could feel the air of understanding swirl around the young Finn, telling of what his task was to be, what he was about to do, what he was about to _show_. Tino knew enough about a brides place in society to know that the giving of mead at the beginning of every meal was a sacred tradition—at least, that's kind of what was expected of the maidens back home. Of course, it was always the woman who gave her husband his first drink, not necessarily his...what? What was Tino? Apparently he was a wife—but he was male? Should he not be a husband? Why didn't Berwald give _him_ his first drink? Why did he have to be the woman in the situation? Was it because he was shorter, maybe because he was meeker? _Well!_ Tino huffed. _Then I will just have to prove my strength as a man!_ He thought with determination.

Tino's face blushed a heavy scarlet from his sudden bought of stubbornness as he straightened up his shoulders, his chin raising to show his fearless face, his eyes set and dogmatic. _Let us see a Dane or Swede try to intimidate the little Finnish wife!_ Tino thought with bitterness as his footsteps, more sure of themselves, began to pick their way over to the four thrones. His feet began to sink into the muddied ground that was fattened with hay on the floor to soak up the puddles, his hide slippers being painted a mossy brown. The soft crunches of heels of bread were pressed underneath his goat hide feet as the dogs whined and yipped around him, a few of the hounds bound by slender chains at the hands of bearded men who were slurping at bowls of stew fattened with barely curls.

Tino bit his lip harder till his mouth tasted faintly of coppery blood. He had to do this in as manly way as possible. He was a bride but he was a man first! Struggling with the mead in his tightening hands he hardened his gaze even more, his violet eyes never straying from the sight of the fur laden thrones. Berwald may be a Swede—but Tino was a Finn. And a Finn always knew how to be fearless when the time was right!

As he passed the heavy set throng of men he did his best to push any inkling of fear down into his heart. He bit at the inside of his cheek and did his best to stand straight, the heavy robes and the horn of mead already making it twice as hard to walk along the mushy and stamped ground of the feasting area. Already his arms were failing him as he did his very best to cradle the horn to his chest, the rising mist from the cup making his nose twitch. His eyelashes fluttered as he looked up, his gaze resting ahead of him, past the flames, past the vikings that he would not dare look at.

Though, he knew, they were all looking at him. Some with reverence, others with confusion and ill will. Their eyes were combing over him, watching him, praying either for him to stumble and fall or to make it to the thrones in relative safety. Tino knew with a growing knot in his stomach that even if most of the men in the war camp tolerated the fact that the Swedish Chieftain was to marry a Finnish man, Tino understood that not everyone would be relatively pleased. The Danes themselves seemed just as bristled that Tino was getting so much affection and that it was distracting them from their currant task of war. Tino sighed quietly as his robe dragged along, his steps making their swift and steady journey over to the thrones with relative ease. Tino would have to do his very best to prove his worth to the Danes without making a fool of himself. If the Wolves did not deem the Lioness strong enough to wield favor within the pack, well... Tino shivered quietly. Then there would be Hel to pay.

Tino's eyelashes fluttered slightly from nervousness as his feet suddenly stopped without him telling them too. His toes fidgeted against themselves in his plush shoes and his neck broke out into a thin layer of sweat as his face beat a dripping red that could match the color of the flushed cheeks of the drunken men around him.

The jabbering from a few minutes before immediately dispersed as Tino stood timidly before the mighty throne that sat the rigid and glaring Swedish Chieftain. Already the fire was playing tricks with the Finn's mind as it danced along the Swedes sharp features, making his green and blue eyes dust and flicker a bit of gold from the glowing embers before the great four thrones. The Finn swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling his fighting spirit being ripped at the seams...

Tino could only stand their with slowly fearful pain as he heard the clinking of silver spools of ale being placed onto the floor with a dulled sound, the gruff whispers of the wild language of the men behind him ghosting over the Finn's red hued ears. Tino straightened himself up before, with a cold bought of fear, realized he really had no clue how to go about this. His body broke into a cold sweat.

Did he bow? Did he speak in greeting? How did he offer Berwald the cup—bent at the knee or with a quick jab of his hands? Tino bit his lip into worry, the tense and silent air growing a bit awkward as he simply just stood in front of the sitting Swede whose glare soon began to melt into pity and a few flakes of awe at how cute and timid Tino looked when he was struggling to not make a fool of himself. Of course, in Berwald's eyes, the Finn could never make himself look foolish. Tino was as perfect as perfect gets—this, Berwald was more than certain.

Berwald, his hands placed on either side of the arms of the throne, lightly extended his weight up so that he was all but towering over the slowly wide eyed Finn. The fire glinted across his face and made a few of the seated Danes cringe back from sudden fear at the mighty lion before their courage was collected back into their hearts. The Swedish leader certainly was frightening if he could make a whole pack of Danish wolves yip and struggle to find their seating...

Tino made a small 'eep!' as the Swedish leader took a single step forward, the man's chiseled face looking even more terrifying by the glowing light of the berth of flames. But, before Tino could shake and stutter even more, the Swede, with a small smile now forming on his lips, craned his neck slowly over the Finn's forehead, his hulking body having to bend forward slightly from the drastic measurement of height.

Tino's breath all but stopped before he felt something somewhat rough but not at all unpleasant brush against his forehead in a small chaste movement that seemed to be something of a soft kiss. Tino swallowed deep in his throat as he felt his face burn bright, his fingers shaking as they still held the frothing mixture of mead that all but threatened to spill as the Finn made a sudden muffled squeaking noise in the back of his throat.

Berwald, feeling the misty liquid steam against his cheeks and hearing the Finn make that small bought of sound, craned his neck backward to glace at Tino, his own face sparking a bit of pink in the moonlight that was only visible to the fidgeting Finn.

"Offer meh th' mead..." Berwald instructed with a whisper, his hand held outward as he waited for Tino to actually regain use of his brain, his eyes blinking as madly as a birds wings at flight. Tino stuttered quickly before he looked around himself. Nikolas was watching him dully, his hands folded along his lap, his blue eyes silently willing Tino to do as Berwald said. Tino, his blood still boiling from that innocent and probably necessary display of affection, nodded softly, his hair framing over his red face to hide his persistent blush.

Tino took a sharp intake of breath before he looked at Mathias, the Dane lounging on his throne like a wolf curled up and ready for a nice summer slumber. The Dane's eyes fluttered then, suddenly flashing a low blue as he caught Tino's frighted gaze, his mouth curled into a small smile. He was warning Tino, telling him he better not fail at this simple task—or else the Danes and Swede's would never see him fit to wed the Northern Lions Tribes Leader. Tino bit back a worried whine.

So, with clumsy fingers that didn't work all that well, the Finn, with a face as red as a roosters crown, placed the curdling honeyed drink into the Swede's hands as an offer of good will and love. Love. Tino couldn't help but bite the inside of his cheek. By giving Berwald the horn of mead—did it mean that Tino was admitting to everyone that he was Berwald's bride? Well...The fact the the Finn was wearing a bridal robe fitted with golden keys round his waist was also a dead give away but... Tino paused and watched as the Swede took the heavy twisted horn of mead into his bearish hands, his eyes flickering to Tino's as he wrapped his strong arm round Tino's waist, his eyes growing a soft gentle color that made Tino's breath leave his lips.

Could he love this man? Could he love him in public, in front of the eyes of hundreds—of thousands. Could he show himself brave enough to hug the man in front of everyone, to kiss him, giggle and croon like a love swept maiden? Like lovers...? Tino pondered over this as he watched the Swede lift up the horn of mead, the black and white blotchy horn glimmering a sudden wail of gold with the heated intensity of the fire licking up against it. He was still very aware that the Swedes left arm was still wrung tight around his slender waist, the keys on his hips jingled silently—the only sound save for the crackling fire and the whining of dogs in the clearing. But Tino didn't mind so much... Hugging was...Okay. It didn't make the Finn feel contradicted, ashamed or soiled. Hugging was—dare he say it? Nice...

The air was stiff and solid, warm and comforting at the same time as the flaxen haired Swedish leader, with one hand, fingers flexed, jostled the ale with his hands quickly, some of the golden liquid flying through the air to splatter into the ash calumniated fire, the honey and liquor hissing and whining as a think layer of smoke that smelled sweet drifted up from the flames. Tino stared with wide eyes into the fire, his glaze flickering to the men round the berth of flames who watched with a hungry sight of reverence. Swede and Dane both bended low to the ground, their long twists of hair curling round their hard faces, their eyes staring at Tino as if the Finn was a celestial being come down from the home of the Gods to grace them with his presence.

But before the Finn could even have a chance to regain his bearings, his eyes caught a slither of movement and, in a few seconds, Mathias had stood himself next to Berwald on his right, Nicholas flush next to Mathias, his pale hands handing the proudly standing Dane his own horn of ale that was glowing a stiff brown from the frothing flames. Then, with Mathias' hand raised, he too jostled his cup against the sky, a good portion of the ale slopping into the fire with a great bought of squealing from the flames.*

Tino's mouth slipped open as he turned his gaze to Nikolas', the Finn's eyes wide and confused. Nikolas only smiled slowly, like a cat before his gaze returned to the fire. It was only when a loud booming voice shook the Finn, did his frightened gaze turn back to Berwald, the giants lips producing twisted and popping noises that reminded Tino of the sound of boiling sap.

"_Odin jag ge en gåva av sprit. Min kärlek jag ger gåvan av honung. Själv ger jag en gåva av fred._"* The gruff voice of the Swedish Barbarian spoke, his eyes scanning over the crowd of men that were still on bended knee, their eyes watching peacefully as the Swede's cup was lowered. They all seemed to drink the leaders words like the sweat liquor that had but minutes ago been slating their thirst. Tino blinked rapidly, not at all sure what he was witnessing.

Next it was Mathias' turn to speak a few words, his cup still poised high as if he was giving an encouraging toast. His words were proud and happy, the lace of the promise of a drunken stupor on it's way.

"_Til Odin jeg giver en gave af spiritus. Min kærlighed jeg giver en gave af honning. Mig selv jeg giver en gave af fred._"* The tall Danish man's voice boomed with a chuckling voice, his teeth gleaming a bright white as they caught the glimmer from the berth of flames. Then, like Berwald, his cup was lowered to his waist, his lips pulled into a victorious grin. Both men, their eyes focused on the gaze of their men and kin, took a steady sip of the warm liquid, their jaws working like hungry carnivores as they gulped and grappled as much of the liquid as they could—and still their thirst was not enough to drain their cups empty. Once each man had had his swig of drink, he swallowed and wiped his mouth roughly, drops of golden honey pattering to the floor in bejeweled puddle's, breath coming out in forced spurts.

Tino's eyes widened as he watched the two men lower the cups from their lips and take a much needed breath of air, their eyes shifting over to their respected bride. Soon, without warning, each of their husbands cups were pressed into the hands of the pale brides. Nikolas took the Danes cup betwixt his hands and, with a more than shallow sip, drank from the grainy ale that frothed and slithered past his tongue and teeth. After he wiped his mouth he handed it back to Mathias who smiled brightly and wiped a bit of beer foam from Nikolas' chin, the Norwegian's eyes cold, his face breathing a soft pink, a blush of betrayal gaining ground on his features.

Tino looked into the swirling cup of mead that Berwald had handed him, the mixture swishing in the cup with a rhythmical movement that sounded like dull waves crashing along a bar of sand. Tino looked softly towards the Swede whose eyes were gazing back at him, his mouth set in a tight line, only the softening of his eyes telling Tino that he was not glaring at him with scorn.

The Finn, doing his best to mimic Nikolas's movements, took a tiny sip of the sweet and grainy mixture. His lips pressed quickly against the rim of the cup, the warm gold encrusted lip of the horn tasting of other things than honey and cinnamon.

_ It tastes like Berwald..._ Tino blushed as he took another smaller sip, the liquid already growing cold as it danced along his tongue. He swallowed it with a bit of reluctance, still trying to sift out the many tastes of the drink. Cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, hazelnut... Tino licked his lips as he handed the horn back to Berwald, the Swede's eyes widening a bit as he watched the Finn lick his lips with a bit of satisfaction. Berwald, trying to tell himself that he was imagining the look in the Finn's eyes, steadied his gaze on the fire once more, his heart not being able to take any more blissful thoughts.

"Let th' feast return to th' fires!" The Swede's guttered voice spoke, his words earning a cheerful bought of grunts and howls as the men rose from the ground once more and began to chew listlessly at husks and bones of meat that were being served every which way. They stomped their feet and sloshed their drinks without care, making both the leaders smile—content with themselves that the men were enjoying the feast.

Tino, his face still flushed, was led by the hand over to his throne by Berwald, the plush furs that had been draped along it a welcoming comfort for the now tired and jittery Finn—and the feast had only just begun! Tino silently wondered if all Viking's had specific cultures and traditions that the Finn had not even the slightest knowledge of... He only hoped to the Gods that he wouldn't have to chip at any more of his already thinning pride. His heart be damned if he had to play the role of the meek little wife again...

Tino was about to ponder more upon the thought when he heard a gentle and sweet voice reach his ears, his head turning quickly to the right to see Kerstin, her hands balancing a few cups of silver bowls and clay mugs, strings of horns dangling from her waist. Tino's gaze softened as he looked into her friendly face. As least she was someone he could talk to without fear of persecution...

"Pardon m', _Damen Lejon_, but I thought ya' might b' thirsty..." She asked, her body bending to the ground in a small curtsey as her hands sifted round the cups and mugs—the containers making small clacking and clicking noises as she worked.

Only when her fingers clasped around something white and glassy did she looked back up to Tino, her pale face glowing as if she was a ghost wrapped in the hushed night. With a glimmer of her jade eyes, she pressed a soft white colored horn into Tino's hands, the end of it dangling by an ornate silver chain, the illustration of a white lioness etched with the cakes of silver. Tino stared at it with awe.

"Whatever m'lady wishes to drink I will fetch." Kerstin spoke meekly, her voice soft and delicate as she waited for Tino's response, her head still bowed in the presence of the Swedish and Finnish nobility.

"Ah..." Tino stuttered. What did he ask for to drink? Did it matter what liquor he wished? Would he be looked down upon if he drank ale or spiced wine? Tino bit his tongue, looking to Nikolas for help.

The Norwegian had been idly sipping a silver bowl filled with watered wine, the warmed liquid being nursed by his pale lips, making his face look a bit flushed. Nikolas caught his cousin's troubled stares and smiled, his hands setting the silver buckled bowl in his lap, his body as limp as a languid cat.

"My cousin is no stranger to the drink. Anything you offer him I am sure will suit his pallet." Nikolas spoke to Kerstin, Berwald and Mathias now taking an interest in the conversation as they turned their heads to face the Finn, curious as to what he would find suitable to drink.

"Try the ale! The Swede's at least know how to boil a good barely mash—of course Danish ale is much better for the stomach!" Mathias cackled, his mouth gulping down his second clay of the stringent brown liquid. A few of the Swede's cringed at the compliment mixed insult, their eyes choosing to continue gazing back at Tino—best for drunk Swede's to not make eye contact with drunk Danes.

"_Damen Lejon_, if I may. Perhaps yer tastes are similar to th' _Damen Ulv_? We h've many a' wines—spiced an' watered. Perhaps pear 'er apple? We h've a few jugs a' grape left if yoo will have it—it's imported!" One of the Swede's, a long haired blonde spoke, his voice timid and rough, his green eyes glassy.

Tino's gaze widened at the suggestion, his violet orbs finding Nikolas, watching as the Norwegian was once again nursing his drink of wine to his reddened lips. Tino knew only the wise drank wine—well. The wise and women who could not hold their liquor. Wine was for old philosophers and silly women! It did not suit his taste at all! But Tino was sure that if he chose a woman's drink well, it would surely label him as one, would it not? Though it might be the safest thing to drink at the moment... But still Tino decided he wouldn't like being labeled as a 'woman'. Not one bit.

"Perhaps, I may have an ale? My tongue holds no contentment for cider nor wine." Tino murmured, his eyes careful as they stared down at the young Swede, confusion spattering over his face. The long haired blonde shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Kerstin just as shocked as she stood near by, Tino's horned cup in her hands, the cup waiting to be filled.

"Ah...But, M'lady—Swedish Ale I know will not be ta' yer liking. After all, ya' did just h've a nasty fall from a horse! Swedish ale is too stronger fer some one such as yoo..." The Swede spoke quickly before his face broke into a hot flush of embarrassment. He scrambled over his next words in a swift apology, his eyes becoming even more glassy—like a ravens iris'.

"I mean no offense, M'Lady! Jus' that, well, it might be too bitter fer ya'..." He corrected himself, the young Swede's gaze meeting the sterner more angry glare of the Lions Chieftain. The young Swede bit back his tongue, wishing he hadn't suddenly spoken, fearing his life to come to an end by his foolish and thoughtless words. But thankfully, it was the Finn's sweet voice that spared the young Swedish soldier from a painful punishment by the hands of the Norther Lion's leader.

"Thank you for your suggestion—but I am of sound mind when it comes to drink." Tino's eyes softened as he turned back to Kerstin. "I would like an ale. If I may?" He asked with soft kindness, his teeth gritting back their stubborn annoyance at basically being called womanish. The Soldier had meant no harm, but it bit against Tino's pride like a viper. He needed to show himself not weak. If draining a few cups of ale did just that—then it was going to be a long night for the thirsty Finn.

Berwald seemed just as surprised if not amused by Tino's instance for a more 'manly' drink as his anger cooled from the young soldiers hasty words. He knew that Tino was beginning to feel a tad bit undermined—simply because he was being noted as a bride. But Berwald had no worry that the Finn would prove himself worthy to be a strong leader and Lady Lion to the tribe. Tino had already exerted amazing feats due to his clumsiness and was a vital part to the pact between the Swede's and Danes. It was a lot of pressure on his cute little shoulders, but Berwald knew his bride could do it. He had ultimate faith in Tino. Nothing could change that.

Kerstin nodded slightly to Tino, her teeth biting against her lip as she scurried off to go fetch Tino his drink, her eyes rapidly blinking the entire time. Tino stared after her with confusion. Had he done something so alien by requesting an ale? Had he insulted anyone in any way? Tino hoped not—he'd very much like to keep his head, thanks very much. But before Tino could think much more upon the subject of him somehow ruining his chances at playing the perfect Viking wife—a cackling voice made him cringe and turn his head to the left.

"So, if I may ask—Why are you too so late? This is the feast for the _Dame Løve_, is it not? Yet you too are _scandalously_ tardy?"* Mathias grinned, his lips forcing his mouth into a wide leer that made Berwald's face heat up and his eyes turn venomous. Tino's face too grew incredibly hot and he gripped his hands together at his sides, his fingers grabbing at his robe in a near death grip.

"I'll not have ya' spinnin' such rumors." Berwald's voice growled, his eyes as heated as a lion staring down painfully at some feeble prey—jaws clenched tight. Tino shivered at the tone of the Barbarians voice, feeling almost a sudden wave of pity for Mathias. The Finn himself hoped to never be at the relieving end of that tone—he would more than likely shit himself!

But the Dane seemed to not be effected by the Lions glare as he only laughed louder, his cackling catching, once again, the attention of a few clustered Danes and Swedes that were the closest to the royal party.

"Mathias! I'm sure they have a reasonable explanation for why they are late..." Nikolas scolded his soon-to-be-husband, Mathias' lips pouting slightly from his brides stern voice. It was just like Nikolas to always ruin the Dane's fun, not like Mathias minded too much—he always got more than willing compensation at night...

"I meant no harm!" Mathias whined, his lips taking a slurp of his grainy ale, the liquid being drunken slowly, his eyes lingering to Berwald with mirth.

"I was merely being observant!" He quipped with humor, his comments making Berwald's eyes flash even more angry. Tino bit his lip as he felt the giant of a man tense next to him. Things were about to turn ugly if the Finn didn't say something, anything! So, with a bit of forced air, the Finn spoke, his small and soft voice seeming out of place in the now tense and heated air of the feasting arena.

"It was my robe that was the culprit. It was so long, I kept tripping over it..." Tino explained, his hands keeping themselves busy by flicking themselves along the beautifully stitched fabric of the robe, his eyes worrying themselves into the Dane's. He only hoped Mathias believed him, if not, well. He didn't know _what _the Dane would start!

Mathias quirked up his eyebrow, his grin slowly forming itself into a smirk—Oh Tino just _knew_ he had just walked into some sort of trap. The Finn felt his heart tighten with worry as his eyes widened at that sinister smile.

"Really? Oh yes, I bet ya' tripped over _somethin' _alright! Though I don't think it was a robe!" Mathias cackled, his voice like stinging thistles as they buried themselves into Tino and Berwald's hearts, the two men's faces growing steadily redder. Tino's mouth wrenched into a small scowl as he glared at the Dane, some Swede's behind the young Finn tensing up and bristling like cranky cats, their fur all up in tuffs. A few of the men began to spit at the ground in a curse, the Danes on the other side doing very little to hide their mirth and ruckus laughter.

By then it seemed that the strong and proud leader of the Norther Lions Tribe had had enough jokes at his dispense—especially if the joke also besmirched Tino's chastity and his virtue. That, Berwald would not allow. So, with a feat of strength as fast a as a strike of lightning, Berwald suddenly made a move to leap from his throne and give the Dane a peace of his mind when Tino, his small little hands as fast as a jack rabbit, placed themselves over the Swede's arm, giving the Barbarian a little squeeze, a warning to behave. Berwald stared down at Tino with a stern glare, his green eyes growling and seething as if they had a life of their own. Tino coward at those eyes but kept his hand on the Swede's tense arm, doing his best to keep the Lion from lunging at the Wolves throat.

Tino was about to say something, soothing words to smooth both tribes ruffled fur, when a voice, much calmer and duller broke the angry silence.

"Hold your tongue Mathias, lest you wish to start a war with the Russians _and_ the Swedes. I am more than certain that you will never be able to fight a two front war. Neither will you find refuge in a lion or bears den, least of all _mine_..." Nikolas murmured out, his eyes flicking over to the Dane with teasing warning, his lips pouting against his silver wine goblet. At once all the Danes and Swede's laughed at the lingering words, their voices shaky, realizing how close they had been to slitting each others throats at just a few joking words. Tino himself seemed to forget the embarrassing insinuation that was made by Mathias and sank back into his fur laden chair, his hands still softly pressed against the Swede's arm, though by now Berwald had calmed down some, though he still sat rigid in his chair.

Mathias only grumbled a bit, his breath a bit hot as he took a few swigs of ale before the wonders of the alcohol all but stopped his scathing remarks and brutal glare. He fondled the cup with his fingers and made a low laugh. He then looked to Nikolas and, with a twinkle of his eyes, joined in on the furious merry making and mirth that erupted from both tribes. Perhaps the two flocks of animals could get along...Tino only hoped so...

Soon though, before another word could be exchanged—friendly or harmful—a flurry of serving maids and men began to carefully step over and onto the thresh hole of the feasting Barbarians. Mostly Swedes, the servants lightly padded over the hay strewn floor carefully, their arms burdened with heavy thatched baskets of steaming and dripping hocks of boar, sizzling flanks of reindeer, boiled and seasoned strips of horse meat, wild water fowl's necks, and Tino's favorite—the juicy marrow of goats bones. Tino's mouth simply watered as the servants, on bended knee, held out the goodies for the four Nordic's to witness and gaze at with hungry eyes.

It was only when another bought of serving men shuffled round the group of nobility, that Tino was handed a heavy wooden bowl and a thick and scratchy cloth as a napkin so that his robe would not be soiled. Tino cheerfully placed the scrap of cloth over his lap and pressed his hands against the arms of his chair, the Swede looking down at him with a small blush.

Well, if there was one thing Berwald could use to his advantage to make the Finn like him, it was food... The Swede had no such idea that the Finn would surprise him this much with his cute and unnoticed gestures. His intense staring at the steaming food and his insistence of being served a man's drink. Berwald had no clue that Tino would just shock him so much into he would have enough courage to tell Tino his thoughts and his pains, that he would get to kiss Tino on his head, that he would get to sit with him, drink with him, eat with him, as if they really were husband and wife. It made the Swede smile and blush, his heart allready feeling more than content at being at the Finn's side.

Tino happily rested the heavy bowl that he had been given on his lap as each server, with a heavy and deep set knife, began to carve and spear the hunks of meat and hoist each variety of each kind onto their plates—all except Nikolas who said he was quiet content with his potato soup and blackberry mash. Tino, reminding himself that his cousin lacked the stomach for rich meat, did not bother to concern himself over Nikolas' eating habits. He had his own stomach to worry about!

Tino himself could not deny his growling tummy any more as he, with his fingers, began to eat like a ravenous lion, his teeth chewing at the warm meat that fell right off the bone with soft slithers. His bowl was piled high with meats of dark and white, some cooked brown—some barely cooked at all, still bloody from the smoking fires.

First he tried the salted boar, then the water bird, until he finally took a few finger scoopfuls of the crooked and roasted bones of the goat, his thumbs and index fingers working to crack them open till he sucked out the marrow with delight, the juicy fat and meat tasting like the food of the Gods! Well, this feast did certainly have some yummy and tasty bits of food that was worthy of being on the plates of Gods! Everything looked so well prepared, so specially made, it almost made the Finn blush at the thought that maybe, perhaps, this was all because of him? Well, surely the feast was but... There was more to it than the food. People respected him here. He was not just some worthless healer back home, only worth to heal a lame work horse and a broken arm. No, he was a valued part of this tribe—and he damn well liked the feeling. Of course, it also sometimes felt like he was walking on egg shells, but he was sure, with some help and practice from Berwald, Tino could make an excellent _Damen Lejon_ for the Swedes. He knew he was strong, knew he was a fighter, that he was brave however clumsy. Yes, Tino rather liked the idea of living here. He was already opening up to Berwald—of course he was still not entirely ready to be a wife just yet! But in time, he thought, with some patience, he could live here peacefully. Yes, he could be the wife of a Swedish Viking...A _Damen Lejon_...

Well, enough about thinking of the serious things! It was Tino's feast and—though he had to be on guard and on his best behavior—the call of the many Swedish viking foods that wafted through his nose made his stomach garble and his mouth water... It was time to focus on food, one of the things he dearly loved in this world without abashment!

Tino couldn't help but watch with hungry eyes as men and women carrying heavy cauldrons of barely mash began to scoop up the stew-like porridge into wooden bowls and stamp it down with ladles. Slender hands worked and twisted to pass the steaming and salty smelling bowls down to the hungry soldiers and villagers who had come to join in the feasting and merriment. Each cup was filled to the brim with mead and ale, apple cider and watered wine. It was truly a feast fit for a King among men, a God among Kings!

Steaming jugs of blackberry juice laced with precious sugar and nutmeg made it's way to thirsty mouths as people drank from the grainy broth till their lips turned a dull and dark purple. Two spits with fresh caught rabbit made thier way over to a clump of Danes who had their fill of the rich meat—even a few flogs of squirrels meat had been roasted and stabbed over the bonfire to cook to the liking of a group of Swedish vikings. Everyone was content to nurse their stomachs till their hearts content, Tino being no exception himself.

He shoveled food into his little cheeks like a damn hamster saving up for the winter. Only the cooling ale that Kerstin had brought able to quench his thirst, his hunger as viscous and as loud as any one of the men seated around him.

Tino, thanking Kerstin for his beverage, took a small sip of the grainy and frothing ale that smelled faintly of molded barely, the ale's bubbles catching his upper lip to give him a small mustache.

Tino laughed softly as he did his best to wipe the froth of bubbles from his mouth, his breathing easing and his body relaxing as his nerves settled on the idea of peace for the night. All would be well, he assured himself. There would be no throwing of jars of mead at mens' heads, no curses or biting words. Nothing but full stomachs and contented hearts. Tino smiled, the heavy and thickening ale hitting him right in the stomach with a sharp twang of happiness, his head already feeling misty and cloudy.

Berwald watched cautiously as Tino began to slurp and chew his way into oblivion. Never had the Swede seen such a fast eater or drinker. The Finn was consuming everything in his path as if he was a giant that had lacked a meal in a thousand years! His cheeks were always full—cute and pink as his eyes concentrated on his second leg of lamb. Berwald couldn't help but smile and slowly sip at his own mead, his fingers idly picking at the few husks of boar that had been placed on his dish, his mind to preoccupied with thoughts of the Finn to be concerned with food.

Tino was happily munching on the spiced leg of a lamb when he heard a few chuckles greet his ears. In an instant the Finn swallowed his currant meal thickly, washing his mouth with a quick swig of ale before he looked up to see a few lingering stare of Swedes and Danes, their fingers breaking apart bits of bread or cracking the shells of some freshly caught crayfish. Tino, his eyes widening, lowered his gaze, his eating all but stopped as he felt the first wave of embarrassment hit him. He was eating like a little pig. Pushing his plate away he looked back to the men, but they were still staring at him, this time smiling.

"He eats like fire itself!" Tino heard a Dane comment, his eyes laughing with good will towards the little Finn whose face began to alight itself red with fire. Tino fidgeted in his seat.

"Aye! Look at the little lioness go! I see not even a fall from a horse can wreck his appetite!" A Swede remarked, his hands jostled onto his wooden mug of ale, some liquid sloping onto the floor, being licked up by a hairy furred dog that—to Tino's queasy uneasiness, resembled a wolf.

Berwald himself seemed to also chuckle as he looked down to the Finn, his eating stopped as well as he let a soft smile flicker over to Tino, the Finn squirming under that unusual sweet gaze that made Tino blush even more. Never had he seen such an amused and carefree look as the one on the Swede's face at that exact moment. Tino almost thought it impossible for the man to let out anything but a glare or a small glimpse of a smile. But there it was. The Swedish Barbarian, smiling down at the meek little Finn who had all but labeled himself a pudgy little piggy from his eating.

"We are glad ta' see that ya' do not share th' same tastes in food as th' _Damen Ulv_—ah, no offense M'Lady." A Swede mumbled, catching himself as he made a silent bow in apology to Nikolas, his eyes wavering slightly.

Tino made a quick show of looking up at Nikolas, his eyes staring deep into the Norwegians dull gaze as he noticed the lack of meat on his plate. He knew his cousin was not able to stomach such rich and fine tasting foods as the ones on the many benches laid out near the bonfire, but surely a bit of wild goose or boar would not be so sickening to his palate? But instead of eating even the smallest quantity of meat, the Norwegian was idle enough to nibble on a few hand fulls of grapes and steamed vegetables, a slab of bread on his wooden dish that was sopped in honey and fresh strawberry currants that smelled sweet and sugary. It must be customary in Viking society for one to be not so picky with their food... Tino knew full well that Nikolas was a very high maintenance person—and yet the Danes loved him unconditionally. Tino smiled slightly, glad his cousins strange ways were still accepted by complete strangers. Tino too had been accepted with open arms even though he was different. It was a nice feeling, being able to belong... Tino only hoped he could get used to it.

Nikolas narrowed his eyes but did not seem to be aggravated by the Swedish soldier words. Instead he calmly set his plate down and flickered his eyes over to the right of him to face the slowly nervously twitching soldier. With a calm slip of his lips he let out a bored sigh.

"Animal flesh heightens the primitive and barbaric qualities of man once consumed. I do not wish to be that chained by such stupidity and vulgarity."* Nikolas stated as he pressed a round and dull green grape to his lip, the wild fruit making a sour crunching noise as the Norwegian bit down. He dabbed at his chin with a scrap of cloth before he blinked, slowly, back to the fire, content to end the conversation at that. But apparently someone else was not so content...

Mathias' shrill voice barked out a sudden laugh as he chewed and gnawed at a hunk of a lambs leg, the blood speckling his chin slightly, making Nikolas cringe and scoff, sinking lower in his seat.

"I am a man of unbridled smarts and wisdom—and I eat as much meat as a ravenous wolf!" Mathias laughed, slinging his arm around Nikolas, the Norwegian stiffening as he pushed away with a bit of laughter in his eyes. Mathias took another gruff bite from the hock of meat in his hands before he wiped his mouth with glee. Nikolas rolled his eyes.

"I stand corrected. Not only will you obtain primitive qualities and vulgarity—but you will also smell like the backside of a dog." Nikolas stated dully, his eyes betraying his sense of mirth.

In an instant all the men laughed boisterously, Danish and Swedish. Their blue and green eyes sparkled as they chuckled as one, stomping their feet onto the ground to make dull thudding noises that rang about the clearing. Everyone smiled or giggled except Mathias who found the joke rather un-amusing. The Dane merely pouted, his eyes sullen, cheeks stained so red that you could see the small little bite marks from the snake that bit him not to long ago blush like a sour blemish. The golden haired Dane, in a bit of annoyance and grief, threw his husk of meat to the ground where it collected a fine layer of dust from the stamped dirt until it was fought over by whining hunting dogs, their eyes wild as they scarfed up the offered meat. Everyone suddenly grew quiet.

"All the time it's mocking against _me_! For once I'd like to prove how cunning and wise a Dane can be!" Mathias growled, to which all the Danes agreed, raising their drinking horns, their eyes grinning and glassy, making Tino uneasy. Men with blue eyes and blonde hair stared dangerously at men with shining jade eyes. Mead was raised and mead was lowered. Fangs were drawn and claws readied, manes bristled and tails swished. The air grew thick with an onslaught of promised rain. All it needed was a bought of heated air to make the lightning strike.

"A Dane is like a wolf, he is a great hunter, but before 'is jaws snap 'round 'is prey, he must scratch 'is ass on a tree to be rid a' flees!" A lean Swedish soldier with a twisted braid of gold mocked, his smile molding around his silver cup of mead, his eyes glinting with cruel jest. Berwald sent the man a glare of a warning, his eyes piercing into the young lad, making the Swede suddenly jump and take a quick breath of air. Tino too looked to the man with disappointment. Though the Finn was sure the unknown Swede could crush him like a little bird—Tino knew that by voicing his opinion the Swede had just put the whole Lions Tribe in danger, and a lot at that.

A low growl that sounded eerily like a starved wolf raked it's way through Mathias' throat like a barbaric animal ready to pounce. The Dane's eyes flashed an angry blue—like the sky before shards of icy rain fell and drenched the land in dread. His fingers grew a bone white as he griped at the arms of his chair, bending his body over the fire like a crouched beast waiting for the kill.

"Hold your tongue young lion or I'll gut it from your mouth and feed it to the fettered Fenrir."* Mathias seethed with hot breath, his eyes incredibly viscous as they bored themselves into the young Swede's eyes.

The Swede lowered his eyes to his cup of mead, his face now growing irritably hot—from embarrassment or anger, Tino didn't know. But what he did know was that things were going down hill fast. Mathias seemed like the kind of man to not take kindly to too many insults—and it looked like the young unsuspecting Swedish soldier had just broke the little restraint the might wolf had.

Berwald too seemed to realize this, as his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed to thin slits, his hardened gaze first stabbing into the Swedish soldier, who wisely and meekly shut his mouth, till his glare then chose to linger towards Mathias, the Dane looking ready to howl a nasty war cry.

"Mathias, are ya' makin' threats on m' land, on a Swede's l'fe?" Berwald's voice growled, his body becoming tense under Tino's touch. The Finn knew right then and there he was the only one stopping the hulking man from lunging up at Mathias. Tino bit his lip, wishing that some miracle might spare the insults, the threats. The miracle never came.

"No, of course not _great _King from the North. I am merely making a threat on his tongue." He cooed, making Berwald bristle. The Swedish giant gnashed his teeth together, his hands tightening themselves round the horn of drained mead, the mood of the event going down hill fast. Already the Danes on the left were beginning to grow more agitated, more haughty, their pride in their kin showing on their faces as they grinned at what their loose tonged leader had said. The Swede's were not much better—already men's fingers were flitting over stocky Swedish blades, golden hair glinting in the massing fire light, eyes illuminated like dangerous and cruel cats.

Mathias, liking very much that the tables had been turned, stood up from his chair, making a few of the Swedes around Berwald and Tino stiffen and raise to a half sitting-half standing position, their hands on the cool iron handles of their swords and daggers.

"There'll be no drawin' a' sword near th' brides!" Berwald's voice was a sudden sharp bought of thunder as he called his men down, the Swedish soldiers all dressed with anger grumbled and frowned, their haunches slinking back to their seats—making Mathias give out a low chuckle. Tino swallowed harshly, not liking this side of the two leaders at all.

"Why is it that the Swede's are so cruel to the Danes? Are we not great warriors too? Do we not go into battle with as much courage, with as much fight as any other man? Do we not bleed from blades and lick our wounds in solitude? Or is it that a lions _spit_, is better for gabbing insults than healing scraps...?" Mathias purred, his hands raised up to the air in mocking as he took a quick look at the young Swedish soldier from before that had dare to insult the Danes.

In no more than a few seconds the hulking and powerful body of the Swedish giant raised itself from the throne-like-chair to stare down at the Dane with pure hate. Mathias only grinned brightly. Nikolas too began to fidget, his eyes growing glassy and worried, fearing that his husbands temper might bring more than just petty arguments. The Danes bark and the Lions yowl might just bring the two tribes to the brink of war... It was a terrible thought to entertain indeed.

Berwald made a single move to advance to the loose mouthed Dane who was standing in the dirt a few inches from his chair, his arms languidly resting on the bow of it, his smile like that of a contented trickster. Berwald growled deep in his throat, a quick rumbling that sounded like thunder.

Tino, his eyes bright and more than wide, instinctively placed his hand, hard, on the Swede's arms to restrict him and to keep him from lunging at the Southern Wolf's leader. Tino knew if anyone could stop the promise of bloodshed it was probably him.

Berwald, his face terse and hard with lines of stress and anger, made a slow turn to look at Tino who in return gazed up at the giant with a soft pleading look. A look that begged the Lion to behave, to do his best to not get stung by thorns and bites. Berwald, looking into those weary and innocent violet eyes, could only comply. Sighing, he sat himself back down, his temper slowly but surely dissipating. At least for now...

"I cannot turn a guest fr'm th's fire, but drink yer ale and keep ta' yerself lest ya anger a den full a' lions. No amount a' help from Loki's canine son can help ya when ya are at th' mercy of a throng a' beasts." Berwald growled out, his voice less than thoughtful, making Tino shiver, the Finn's fingers still buried against the Swedes wrists. All the sitting and drinking Swedish soldiers around Tino and Berwald chuckled darkly, their eyes all but laughing at the Danes across from them. The Danish men, eyes set with stares as deadly sharp as daggers, guttered little bits of annoyance at the insult.

Mathias did not seemed fazed at all. Instead, he seemed more than delighted as he slumped back into his chair, his right hand gripping his heavy horn of ale that was almost empty, the cup making sloshing noises as he drank from it slowly. After but one single sip he pulled the drink from his mouth and licked his lips, his eyes staring menacingly at Berwald.

"Is it then, that you have proclaimed yourself '_Odin_' and that I am '_Loki_'? That we must both drink with each others presence or else no one drinks at all?"* Mathias smirked, his hands twirling the drinking horn round and round, the froth bubbling and frothing. Berwald gritted his teeth.

Tino took a sharp intake of breath, knowing full well that what Mathias had just said was mild Blasphemy. The fact that the Dane would accuse Berwald as playing the part of Odin, the Allfather, while Mathias proclaimed himself Loki the Trickster—why, it was an insult to the Gods!* Tino gritted his teeth, his grip on Berwald almost bone crushing.

"We are not blood brothers—we have taken no such oaths. I am not bound by your contentment as you are not bound by mine. You may turn me away from this fire, if you wish." Mathias laughed darkly, his horn finally being put down roughly by his strong hands, his eyes glimmering, waiting for Berwald's next choice of words.

And oh what careful words they were.

Berwald could only hardened his gaze as he struggled with the words. "If I did turn ya' 'way from this feast, it'd be an insult to both our character. Somethin' I would not do." Berwald spoke carefully, picking over his words with stealth, the corner of his eyes never leaving the stacked row of Danish men flanked at his left.

Mathias snorted.

"Your dear _generosity_ at letting me keep my place at the fire has reminded me of a story." The Dane grinned, his legs swinging over the chair of his throne, making Nikolas fidget and break eye contact—something Tino had never seen his cousin do. Surely Mathias was an awesome power not to be messed with.

Berwald frowned, his gaze narrowing, becoming more and more suspicious. This time the giant's hands broke free from Tino's grip with a slow movement that even surprised the Finn. But the Swede did not bolt as Tino had thought him to do. Instead, the hulking Lion placed his paw-like hand over Tino's in an almost desperate way of holding hands, his thumb occasionally grazing over the top of Tino's slender fingers. The Finn's face immediately grew red.

"Surely my words, if they do not bite the mane of the lion too much, will be allowed to entertain us with a story?" Mathias hummed, his voice bordering on mirth and jeering, something that Berwald certainly did not find amusing, not one bit. Everyone else seemed to also not find the added humor as easy as the Danish leader, even the Danes themselves beginning to calm themselves down as best they could, the fire near the faces able to remind them to behave some lest they wanted to be burned right where they stood.

Berwald sighed, rubbing his eyes with his left hand, his voice tired and weary as he spoke.

"Tell yer story. But be quick." He mumbled out bitterly. Mathias grinned, bowing down to the giant Swedish leader with mocking. Berwald ground his teeth painfully, Tino able to hear the clenching noise from where he sat. Nikolas rolled his eyes, his worries from the night now seeming to melt, the Norwegian convinced that the Dane, though opening wounds, would cause no real harm tonight—at least, everyone hoped. Tino just did his very best to keep the Swedish lion from lunging at the Danish wolf and ripping him to shreds. It was a tiring task, but it had to be done if he wanted to keep his head, which in all respect he damn well wanted to!

Mathias grinned as he, swinging his legs over, sat properly in his chair, his arms spread wide, his grin dripping with enough mirth to drown a beggar women with joy. Everyone flinched, be they Dane or Swede, Finn or Norwegian. Then, he spoke, low and thoughtful. Mocking almost.

"Why is it that the Swedes are so curbed with anger at the Danes? Is it jealousy because our women are more beautiful? Is it jealousy because our men are more powerful? Or is it jealousy because _our land is more worthy..?_" Mathias hissed with fits giggles. Berwald narrowed his eyes, the Swede getting ready to knock Mathias down a peg or two.

"I granted ya' permission for a story, not a barge a' insults." The Swede spat out, his patience wearing thin. Very, very thin.

Mathias' face immediately grew dark with red, his grin splitting into a deadly snarl.

"I am Chieftain of Denmark and I do _not _need your permission to speak my say. My words are meant to sting, not to fit to your liking." Mathias barked. Berwald's face flushed with rage, his fingers growing rigged over Tino's hand, making the Finn make a small sound of discomfort. Apologizing, Berwald let off his grip some, but his eyes still remained cold, hating.

Nikolas swallowed thickly, flicking his gaze to the Dane in mild warning. Mathias caught the gaze and grumbled, sitting back down in his chair, deciding to calm down some, finding that h really rather not liked the idea of a Swedish spear stabbing him in the belly.

After settling himself down in his wolf skinned throne, Mathias began his tale...

"My story is titled '_Gylfi and Gefion_', it is the twenty first myth in our beloved Norse tales, and it tells of a certain fame of a Danish Goddess, and the foolishness of a certain Swedish King."* Mathias grinned brightly.

Berwald tightened his jaw, his breath hissing out in warning at the Dane's words.

The Swede's themselves also hissed and gnashed at their teeth like ill trained stallions, their good will towards drinking all but forgotten.

"_Gefion_? You mean the Danish Goddess who was seduced by a young boy for a sparkling necklace? The Goddess who was thought to keep chaste who slept with a cur for a fleck of jewelry?"* One Swede spit out with sudden venom, his accusation granting him howls of anger from the Danes and grins of rewarding from the Swede's.

Mathias' face grew red with unleashed anger at the ill words spoken. The Danish leader made a sudden move to lunge at the man with his bare hands but Nikolas kept him back with cold words.

"There will be no bloodshed between Swede and Dane. You have all signed oaths in the name of the God Njord to not harm one another. Should you break them now would result in immediate casting into Hel where the corpse eating dragon would not even take pity of you."* Nikolas' voice was low and warning, making Mathias sit back in his chair, the anger from his face draining, a few flakes of stubbornness left in his eyes. He curled his lip upward in a small pout but sighed in defeat.

"I will spare the young cubs my abuses as best as I can. But I cannot say that my sharp tongue will be so easily restrained." He spoke out coldly, his eyes finding the fist young Swede that had dared to hurl abuses at him.

The Swede only scoffed with nervousness before looking back into his mead, paying Mathias no other heed. He began to slowly nurse his drink. Mathias only flicked his gaze to Berwald.

"Then, if I may continue..." Mathias asked the tall Swede, his voice flat, no mocking. Berwald nodded his head slowly, his eyes dripping with curved anger and tension.

Mathias smiled grimly.

"A long time ago, before any of us were born, before our mothers and fathers and their mothers and fathers were born—lived the Swedish King Gylfi." Mathias spoke carefully, his eyes watching the Swedes that were flanked in front of him, looking for any sign of resentment or anger—so far he saw none but what was created with his words before. So, with a bit louder voice, he continued on.

"Glyfi was a fine King, I'll give you that. He ruled fairly, he ruled kindly—it was said that anyone who stopped by his Hall and needed food and rest would be given a warm cot to sleep on and a bowl of steaming soup for their starved belly. He was very generous indeed—but that's what got him into trouble." Mathias' voice let out a small chuckle that was noticed by all.

The Danes crowded around their leader laughed low in their throats, the Swede's simply bringing their eyes to slits, sipping at their cooling mead and grainy ale. No one liked to have a story told at their expense, the Swede's being no different. But still, they said nothing and let the Danish man have his festering fun...

"One day King Glyfi decided to take a stroll through his land. He called for his servants to bring an old stubby pony to his hall to wait by the gates. They did as he asked without question. Next the generous King rooted through his clothes to pick out the most gnarled and dirty garments he owned—ones with holes and mud caked on them." Mathias twitched his nose with disgust, his hands now on his knees, the fire glimmering off his face.

Tino himself couldn't help but listen intently at the story, his body craning closer to hear the Dane, his eyes wide as he listened to the tale that was beginning to unravel before his eyes...He only hoped it had a happy ending. He loved happy endings, very much indeed.

"Once the King was dressed in horrible rags he mounted the ugly lamed pony and began making his way southward. Well, it just so happens that as he was riding through a great thicket, the great _Gefion_—the Danish Goddess, the most beautiful of all the Goddess's, more so than _Freja_ herself—more sweet than _Sif _and more chaste than _Sigyn_- more radiant then red gold, more clever than _Loki_-"* Mathias began to coo, his hands clutched at his heart as he began to sing out the Danish Goddess's praises.

"Mathias we get it. She's Danish which means she's perfect. Continue with the rest of the story." Nikolas groaned, his fingers squeezing his temple to get rid of the headache that he was more that sure due to the Dane's startlingly aggressive behavior tonight.

Mathias smiled and rubbed the back of his head with his hands, his eyes twinkling as he got more comfortable in his seat, promising that he'd tone down his excitement as best as he could. To which Berwald groaned and muttered, 'Ah hope so...', earning a little glare form the Dane before continued the story that had everyone enthralled. At the Danes soothing voice it seemed that the prospect of slitting throats was soon forgotten—so long as everyone behaved that is.

"Gefion, talking a stroll in the great forest that belonged to King Gylfi, disguised herself as an old decrepit beggar woman, walking along the great and rocky forest terrains of the land they call Sweden. Now, Gefion was not alone, for in the forest she saw a mud wrenched man riding on an old and shaggy pony. The man halted his sniveling mount and slid from the bony thin haunches. Slowly, he walked to the Goddess in disguise." Mathias' voice slithered low, his eyes gleaming like two saphire jewels as he spoke the next bit of the tale, his voice never taking a break from it's strain.

"The man named himself as _Vegtam_—a wander. But of course, Gefion knew exactly who he was, though she held her tongue. 'Vegtam' asked for food and a place to rest and the beggar woman obliged. She laid down her shawl near a nest of grass for the man to lay upon. She rattled her dress and produced two husks of bread and gave them both to the man without a word. The man thanked her and ate in silence." Mathias' voice grew slower, his pitch more excited, like the spasmodic cawing of a blackened crow. It made everyone's eyes twitch and blink, their gaze staring into the fire, as if the actual story was being played out in the embers and flames.

"A day and a night passed and finally, 'Vegtam', feeling now the time to reveal himself, stood in front of the woman and grabbed her hands. She didn't move. 'You have treated me like a King,' said Gylfi. The beggar woman sat in her soiled swaddles and listened. 'Our bed was your tattered shawl, our roof the stars. Everything you shared with me—your bread and your kindness.'

The beggar woman only stared with glassy eyes.

'You have treated me like a King', he repeated again, 'and now I want to tell you that I am a King.'

The woman sniffed.

'As you share with me, I will share with you. You're welcome to as much of Sweden as you can plough with four oxen in one day and one night.' The King spoke. Then the King and the beggar woman went their own ways. The beggar-woman, none other than the Goddess Gefion, left Midgard and journeyed into Jotunheim."* A slow smile crept over Mathias' features, his hands twisting against the rungs in his throne, eyes impossibly wide as his voice hissed. Berwald only stared straight ahead, contemplating the repercussions of smashing the Dane's head in. The odds were looking very favorable.

"Gefion walked past cauldrons of mud and boiling springs, she worked her way round the base of a mountain and reached a secluded fertile valley. No man lived there, but four huge oxen were grazing under the hot sun—the four sons of the Goddess and a giant." Mathias took a small sip from his drinking horn to sooth his slowly wearied voice, the grainy and stinging ale sliding down his throat with ease. No one spoke a word to interrupt. Even the ponies that were a little ways away slowed their soft snorts and insistent pawing.

"Gefion took her sons with her back to Midgard, land of men, and into the country of Sweden. She chose a piece of land, very fine to look at and even better for farming, and yolked the four oxen to a massive plough. Now the coulter bit so deep that it began to loosen the crust of the earth. Now the oxen strained with every sinew and muscle and wrenched the mould away from the molten rock beneath." At that point the Swedes that were more than patiently listening began to grow restless. Their mead was lowered from their lips, their eyes growing irritable as they watched the comfortable Danes enjoying the story more and more. It was one thing to have one Swedish man or two being ripped by insults, but having the country itself being subjected to divine cruelty. That was too much.

One of the Swede's a man with a thick rolling bear and watery eyes was about to speak his say of the branding story when Mathias, feeling that he was about to be interrupted, spoke with a fast spurt of words, wanting to finish the story as quick as he could with keeping all his limbs in tact.

"Gefion laughed as her four sons dragged off a great piece of land. The Oxen slowly made their way westward. They reeked with sweat. The Goddess urged them on and they waded into the sea, still hauling the land behind them, until at last they stopped in the middle of a sound. 'Leave the land here,' Gefion said. 'Let it lie here until the end of the world!' She unyolked the oxen from the plough, oxen with eyes like moons not unlike their mother. 'And let this fertile Island be known as _Zealand_,' said the Goddess."*

Mathias struggled to sit up in his throne as he rested his legs into the cooling dirt, the stars above like icy eyes of the Gods that had taken a bit of interest in the story of the Dane. Berwald, thinking the story was over, let loose a strained bit of breath before he sunk back in his chair. But the Dane's high pitched voice all but gnawed at his nerves.

"So Gefion repaid Gylfi's generosity by looting his land. That which made Denmark larger made Sweden smaller. Water oozed from the earth and fell from the sky into the gaping wound where the land had been ripped up, and it became a lake. Men of the Swede's called it Mälar. The Danes, called it vengeance."* Mathias bit out, his stinging words sending every Swede on their toes, their snarls heard throughout the bonfire like hissing wild cats bent on destruction.

No one was safe from strife and by the tale, and yet even Tino felt a bit of pang and pity for both the Swede's and the Danes... _That which made Denmark larger made Swede smaller. _Denmark was a part of Sweden just as Sweden was a part of Denmark—so shouldn't the two tribes act together as brothers of the same kin? Did it really mattered who ruled, who was the strongest, the bravest? They were all brothers of the same earth and sky. It was time they started to act like it!

Frowning with sudden disapproval, Tino, with a severe bought of stubbornness, sat himself up from his chair with a quick start and hardened his eyes, his jaw set tight.

Berwald, who was grimacing on his left, suddenly turned his head with a tight movement to gaze up at the Finn with a quick breath of shock, his bright eyes glowing almost from behind the glass frames. Watching as the Finn, his body standing straight like a rowan tree, the Swede made a move to stand up with his bride but Tino, tensing his hands on the giant's own, made it clear he needed no help to get his words across.

"Kin of Swedes and Kin of Danes—is it always that you must grapple and fight, that you must always pick with fleas at each others words, and lick your wounds with hate? We are not animals, though our namesakes suggest otherwise. We are not cruel and pitiful giants, we are not rare and exotic creatures—and we certainly do not claim ourselves to be Gods! So then why do we judge each other as such? To say that we are better than one another because of the feats of our Gods and ancestors? It is wrong. We are all free men here!" Tino's voice was strong as he spoke, his eyes scanning each and every face as the Vikings all around him began to widen their eyes, lowering their drinking cups and horns. Every man sitting before the fire took in the small Finn's words, their brains trying desperately to keep up with what the small and exotic violet eyed bride was saying—that they should act as kin, as brothers.

"You are very wise to propose such an idea, young bride of the Swede's." Mathias smiled slowly, a smile that Tino couldn't for the life of him tell if it was genuine or fake—something Tino wasn't too keen on figuring out.

"Aye. He speaks l'ke a wise bard..." Berwald agreed, very much proud of his little wife and the way the Finn was handling himself, coming out of his shell no matter the inherit dangers. It made Berwald value Tino more than he had—and he already valued the Finn more than his weight in gold.

Tino, watching all the men around him, their eyes aglow by the fire as the nodded, felt an embarrassing sort of self satisfaction at his achievement. He had gotten them all to agree, to entertain the idea of acting as brothers. Even if they didn't take his proposal to heart, it was something right?

"My cousin, you are very brave and wise to have spoken your share." Nikolas spoke softly to Tino as the Finn, his face red with all the sudden attention focused on him, sat his little Finnish rump back in his chair and snuggled his arm round Berwald, the Swedish Barbarian his only true comfort in the whole array of staring and gruffly whispering men. At Nikolas' praise though, the Finn began to sweat a little less and was able to regain what little composer and sanity he had—but very soon he was about to loose all of it.

"I must admit that I grow weary of hearing barks from a Dane and growls from a Swede. If I may say, I have grown tired of the rough sounds of a warrior's voice. Yet I much more fancy the melodic tune of my young cousin—perhaps, if it would please the two Chieftains and the connected tribes—the _Damen Lejon_ would honor us with a story?" Nikolas' voice was sweet, hopeful, neutral, and yet it made Tino's face burn as bright as the bonfire that was snapping and yipping right before his eyes.

"_Me?_" The Finn suddenly squeaked with fear, earning a few laughs and good willed chuckles from the men that had severely calmed down due to the effect of the watered down ale slowly slipping from their veins and blood.

But Tino was all but calm! Why would Nikolas propose the Finnish man do such a thing—entertain a horde of vikings by telling a story! What on the Gods green earth was he supposed to tell? 'Little- Red-_Perkele-_Riding-Hood? He didn't think so! They would tear him to shreds! In fact, he was still surprised that he hadn't gotten an iron spear head jabbed into his tummy at his little heated outburst!

Tino, taking a worried huff of breath, looked over to Berwald who was softly smiling, his face looking down to Tino with a bit of hopefulness, his eyes slipping away from their veil or gray tension, his eyes showing an almost—happy?-shade of blue green. It took Tino's breath away.

Well.

If it would make Berwald happy then—Oh no! He just didn't want to! Not even if it would make the Swedish Barbarian smile—Since when did he care if Berwald smiled? Gah! Tino bit his nails into his palms, his face a milky red that looked like it had berry paste smashed all over it!

What story could he tell anyway? He could tell some of the old Norse tales that Nikolas' parents had taught him, but he was more than convinced by Mathias' display of 'story time' that the Vikings had all but heard all the myths and legends... So what could he tell them that would not bore them half to death—or worse—bury him half to death?

The Finn cringed.

"I...I would be ha-happy to tell a story. But, um, as it were, I do not know many tales that could even hope to entertain you all..." Tino began timidly but was cut off by a smiling gleam from Nikolas.

"Why, of course you do, cousin. You know plenty. Why don't you spin us a tale from your Finnish lore, hmm? How about the creation myth, you know—the one you were named after in our family?" Nikolas' smile damn near made Tino want to hide under the reindeer pelt. The Norwegians lips were curled up tightly into an intimidating grin that even made Mathias take a second look at the Norwegian beaut before he took a sip of mead, his voice cracking slightly.

"Finnish creation myth?" The Dane asked, his brow's forcing themselves upward, his blue eyes turning curious. Berwald too seemed to take notice as he turned back to Tino, his drinking horn having since been left untouched since the Dane had first started an uproar.

Finnish creation Myth? Berwald pondered it over in his head, his eyes scanning all the curious eyes of his brethren and guests, their eyes just as confused and curious. Surely no man here, of the faith of Odin and his many children and companions had ever entertained the thought of there being more than one creation myth. Wasn't the earth supposed to be made from the dead body of the frost giant Ymir? Was it not Odin and his brothers that rooted the giant to the spot and used his bones, flesh and brains to make the earth? Berwald bit his bottom lip, his curiosity fit to burst. Tino certainly was different, from a different land. A different land that Berwald suddenly had a thirst to know more about—and if the Finn was willing, he'd very much like to hear such a tale about how Tino got his surname and how the land of the Finn's was formed.

"Aye my _Herre Ulv_. It is a charming story—very different from our own myths—but interesting none the less." Nikolas spoke back to Mathias, his eyes still lingering onto Tino, pressuring him to speak, to talk, to _tell_.

"Ah, really Nikolas, I don't think-"Tino's desperate means of escape were cut off by the young voice of a Swede, no older than fourteen, with pale almost white hair and jade eyes. His cheeks were flushed from mead and his voice was slurred, but, with gentle eyes he spoke to Tino.

"Please _Damen Lejon_. Many a' us have sil'ntly w'nder'd 'bout yer land 'n ways. Yer our Lady, our Queen, it would be a' great pleasure ta' hear yer pretty voice speak a' yer home." The spoke quietly, his eyes downcast in respect. Tino, at a lost for words, looked to Berwald who, with a gentle voice, also spoke, his fingers lightly squeezing against Tino's reassuringly.

"Please... T'would mean a lot..." The giant murmured, and Tino, hearing on of the iron locks on his heart suddenly snap and flutter away, swallowed thickly, his eyes glassy, face flushed.

"Ah...Well. Alright." Tino broke, his words earning a small bought of cheers and yips from the circled men, some already passed out and snoring on the floor from drunkenness.

Tino, looking one last time to Nikolas with a gaze of irritability and humilation, began his tale, of how the Wind, the Duck, and the Goddess created the land of Finland, and the Great God-hero, Väinämöinen who ruled for many years to come...

…**...**

**DON"T GIVE ME THAT LOOK! You got a Danish/Swedish Myth—be happy! Yeah, it's late and I really wanted to give you guys a chapter so it looks like the awesome Finnish myth will have to wait! (Sorry! The Dolphins are already punishing me as we speak!) I feel kinda bad because I Kinda made Denmark the Shit disturber—but I at least made him sound as badass as I could. **

**Authors Notes: **

-Then, with Mathias' hand raised, he too jostled his cup against the sky, a good portion of the ale slopping into the fire with a great bought of squealing from the flames.***-The first drink was always given to the mighty Norse God Odin at the start of every feast. **

-"_Odin jag ge en gåva av sprit. Min kärlek jag ger gåvan av honung. Själv ger jag en gåva av fred._"***-"****Odin I give a gift of spirit. My love I give the gift of honey. Naturally, I give a gift of peace."-Swedish. (Thank you MalinChan!)**

-"_Til Odin jeg giver en gave af spiritus. Min kærlighed jeg giver en gave af honning. Mig selv jeg giver en gave af fred._"*-**"On Odin I give a gift of spirits. My love I give a gift of honey. Myself I give a gift of peace. "*****-Danish. (GIVE MEH A DANISH TRANSLATOR! PLEASE!) **

-"So, if I may ask—Why are you too so late? This is the feast for the _Dame Løve_, is it not? Yet you too are _scandalously_ tardy?"***- ****'Dame Løve' 'Lady Lion' in Danish.**

-"Animal flesh heightens the primitive and barbaric qualities of man once consumed. I do not wish to be that chained by such stupidity and vulgarity."***-Many people in the time of the vikings and younger thought that if you ate animal flesh you would take on the qualities of that animal. Sometimes that was valuable—other times not so much. Most of the Druids and Priestess's of the Celtic/British Pagan religion did not even touch any sort of meat, though now the practice might have changed. I just though the Nikolas seemed like the kind to want to acquire knowledge—not animal behavior.**

-"Hold your tongue young lion or I'll gut it from your mouth and feed it to the fettered Fenrir."***-'Fenrir' One of Loki's children. Fenrir was a giant and monstrous wolf who had to be bound by the Gods with several tries of a chain till they held him down with a ribbon of ****mysterious qualities. They shoved a sword through his mouth to keep him quiet and yet he still yelped. During the end of the world he will be the one to break free and swallow Odin whole.**

-"Is it then, that you have proclaimed yourself '_Odin_' and that I am '_Loki_'? That we must both drink with each others presence or else no one drinks at all?"***- In the 30****th** **Norse Tale, 'Loki's Flyting', Loki barges in on the many Gods as they are drinking their ale in mourning at the death of Balder whom Loki killed. After spitting insults he dares for anyone to turn him away from the fire. One God does, and Loki rages on him before he looks to Odin and says that 'Remember, Odin, how—long ago—we mixed our blood in brotherhood. You swore that you would only drink if a drink were brought to both of us.' In this way, Lokis is served a drink and stays to hurl abuses at the rest of the Gods until he his forced to leave by Thor. I just kinda think that Denmark reminds me of Loki just a bit...**

-The fact that the Dane would accuse Berwald as playing the part of Odin, the Allfather, while Mathias proclaimed himself Loki the Trickster—why, it was an insult to the Gods!***-Pretending to be a God was a no-no. You could be like a God 'hero' but that was about it. You had to earn the titled to be almost as great as the Gods themselves. **

-"My story is titled '_Gylfi and Gefion_', it is the twenty first myth in our beloved Norse tales, and it tells of a certain fame of a Danish Goddess, and the foolishness of a certain Swedish King."***- The 21****st** **Norse Tale titled 'Glyfi and Gefion.' There are no records that there actually lived a Swedish King named 'Gylfi' but Gefion was a very much real Goddess in Norse Mythology. Mostly celebrates in Danish Lore because she was supposedly the celestial virgin bride of the Danish God King Skjold, son of Odin. They lived in Leire Denmark and were the traditional founders of the Danish dynasty known as the 'Scyldings'. Gefion's name means 'gift' and she was most often thought to take care of virgin maidens after death. Her virtue was supposedly so strong that her sons that were from an unknown giant were created by a spell. **

-"_Gefion_? You mean the Danish Goddess who was seduced by a young boy for a sparkling necklace? The Goddess who was thought to keep chaste who slept with a cur for a fleck of jewelry?"***-In a feat of anger , Loki supposedly yelled to Gefion that she was a whore that slept with a boy for a necklace. Odin later disproved this theory by noting that he and Gefion see all. **

-"There will be no bloodshed between Swede and Dane. You have all signed oaths in the name of the God Njord to not harm one another. Should you break them now would result in immediate casting into Hel where the corpse eating dragon would not even take pity of you."***-'Njord' was a main fertility God who was often called upon to witness Oaths. **

-"Once the King was dressed in horrible rags he mounted the ugly lamed pony and began making his way southward. Well, it just so happens that as he was riding through a great thicket, the great _Gefion_—the Danish Goddess, the most beautiful of all the Goddess's, more so than _Freja_ herself—more sweet than _Sif _and more chaste than _Sigyn_- more radiant then red gold, more clever than _Loki_-"**- 'Sif' was wife of Thor, Sigyn was the faithful wife of Loki. **

-'As you share with me, I will share with you. You're welcome to as much of Sweden as you can plough with four oxen in one day and one night.' The King spoke. Then the King and the beggar woman went their own ways. The beggar-woman, none other than the Goddess Gefion, left Midgard and journeyed into Jotunheim."***-'Jotunheim'-land of Giants.**

-'And let this fertile Island be known as _Zealand_,' said the Goddess."***-'Zealand' pronounced 'Zeh-a-land' (I think). No it is not New Zealand nor Sealand. It is an old term for '**_**Sjælland**__**' which is a part of Denmark now today. **_

_-Men of the Swede's called it Mälar. The Danes, called it vengeance."*__**- 'Mälar' a lake in Sweden. Some say the lake is actually Lake Lögrinn in Sweden.**_


	10. Finnish God Herowho, me!

**Finnish Creation Myth! Aw Hellz Yeah! I just hope I don't screw it up! Thank you to all who reviewed last time! I know I rushed the last chapter but I was just so excited to get it to you! This one will be better! (I hope!) I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia nor it's characters, if I did, Sweden would be naked allll the time! **(CHAPTERS WILL BE SHORTER)

**Thank you to **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, and **Ruusu** for being my awesome Finnish/Swedish translators! Much love to you beautiful Scandinavian's!**

***Also, for certain chapters I will include a song that some may want to listen to while reading, it might make you like the story a bit more! If you don't though, you don't have to of course! Most of them will be in either Swedish or Finnish. This chapters song is called '**Stenristarna**' by **Anders Hagberg**. **

***Still looking for that Danish Translator!**

…**...**

"In the beginning there was only water. Sea and ocean that rippled on forever and ever. Bellowing over the land was a great sweeping sky of shaded blue that watched over the simmering sea with a sorrowful gaze. Everyday the sky watched the dulled waves and everyday he became more lonely and more displeased, until one day he could no longer stand his loneliness. One day the sky, watching the wind with a determined gaze, declared, 'I long for a daughter!' to this, the wind laughed at the sky's wishful thinking and went about his time swaying over the stilled water. This made the sky angry and he huffed and puffed and turned a darkened blue. He swayed and he shook and soon, with all his strength he burst the waters open and with a start, foam began to rise and turn a pale white into the body of a women with hair a light gold cradled around her slender shoulders—the Sky's virgin daughter—_Ilmatar_."* Tino paused, his face a bright red as his lips shook, his voice waning some as he took a small peek up at all the gathered men and women that had stopped their drinking and chewing to listen to the small and sheepish Brides words.

Already there were a few confused faces—either because of the language barrier or because they really had no idea in _Hel_ what the Finnish man was saying. The Finnish culture was too different, too peaceful then the Swedish and Danish culture. Of course that was not to say that the Finn's did not have fierce Gods or withering monsters taking control of their myths—but neither did the Finn's see the land created with blood and gore of the body from a giant as the Swede's and Danes did. Their cultures, they were... Just too different.

Tino sighed, wringing his hands together inside his robe, his body becoming much too hot with the tunics and the oversized garment. His face was flushed from the heat of the flames that seemed to eat at his skin, his eyes burning and watery from the charred smoke. Greenery had been thrown into the ashen cauldrons and pits that housed the lingering flames, and the smoke was beginning to make the Finn's eyes water. With a chocking breath from the smoke and a quiver of his voice, he continued his tale. The Swedish and Danish myths be damned, he was a Finn. It was time to take pride in his culture.

"Ilmatar was a sight to behold, with beautiful blue eyes much like her father sky above and her ocean mother below. Her hair was like the ripened waves of kelp and seaweed and her skin was as pale as the waters ripples surrounding her. However, though like her father, she suffered the fate of boredom. For the first days of her virgin womanhood she floated round the currants and soft pulls of the ocean, her eyes listless, heart dulled with the craving of love—the craving of a son to call her own." Tino was about to continue his story, his voice cracking slightly from the added flames and smokey currants of ash when a Dane, with a confused gaze, pipped up.

"Wait a' bit. I thought the first people were of ash trees? An' wasn't the first woman a _giantess,_ the other the Frost Giant?" The Dane asked, his voice a twinge bit skeptical. He rubbed his stubble of a beard as he eyed Tino suspiciously, making the Finn fidget in his seat. The other Danes around him began to rumble and stir, their nods of heads showing that they too were confused. Even the Swede's looked a bit unsure about what the Finn was saying—and it wasn't just a language barrier. For how could the winds and waves create a Goddess? It was the blood of Ymir and the flesh of his kin that molded the earth and made the first creatures! Not some stubborn wind and Bored water! It was blasphemy it was!

"Ye' are not so sharp tongued as ta' question the traditions of a Bride befitting the Lions Tribe." Berwald spoke into the confused and a little offended silence. The air hissed with the sparkle of flames like a cold blanket that wrapped around each woman and man. The Swedish Leaders words were a solid statement, a barrier to defend the Finnish man. His words were meant to put up shields to protect the life and honor of the Finn's words. No man was willing his life to cross said guarded walls.

The Dane that had first spoke up looked to Mathias first, his Lord simply shrugging and sipping at his drink before he spoke, his voice languid and calm—his past stormed words all but forgotten, like a fickle disturbance.

"I see no reason to condemn the _Damen Lejon _to heresy. The delicate Bride is only retelling a tale—a piece of creation that may very well be true. Do not dismiss the Gods of another Brethren, for their Gods and your Gods may be one in a same." Mathias spoke softly, returning his lips to nursing his drink, his eyes flashing to the Finn with a splash of mirth.

Tino cringed but all but thanked Mathias for his saving words with his eyes. Tino knew how close his story had come to challenging Norse Law, Norse fact. It was ground he did not want to step on ever again...

With the knowledge that his words brought uneasiness, he began to regret even uttering a single breath about his homeland and it's weaving myths...but...why should he have to be ashamed? So what if his legends, the stories he had been told since he was a babe in his mothers arms, bristled the fur of the lions and wolves? It was his story to tell—not theirs. He had lived in a Norwegian household with his cousin, had adopted the harsh and merciless ways of the Norse Gods. He had taken comfort in their tales and their cunning. But he had longed for his own culture as well...A culture that spoke of whispering birds, king bears and and leaping elk. A culture that spoke of wonderful creature-like animals and spirits of crafty likeness.

He longed for the crashing sounds of the thunder God _Ukko_ as he struck his hammer across the sky.* He missed visiting the shrines of the _Haltija _every special holiday and solstice with his mother and father.* He cried at night when he saw the beautiful shape of the bear from the glistening stars and not being able to share how wonderful, how deeply beautiful that animal in the stars was.* He missed not being able to share anything from his life, from his past, from what he was and what he is now. But that was all about to change. He was no Swede, no Dane. He was Finnish. He was made by sea and by air, he was blessed with the powers of the bear and he was given the sir name of the Great God-Hero.

It was time to revel in his birthright.

"I admit my culture is very much different from yours, but if I may continue, I think you will find it most fanciful, most interesting. I will not try to convert you. I know that the heads of Swede's and Danes are tough..." Tino tried to smile good naturally, his words earning a few chuckles that melted away a bit of the tension. Good. Joking was good.

"But this story is what I was told and it's what I'd like to believe. I do not know if the world was made by Ymir or by this tale that I spin now. I do not claim to. But what I do know is that I find comfort in it and I know it wold bring me more peace to know that I can tell it with ease. So, I ask you, gentlemen of Kinsmen so unlike my own—grant me my words freedom so that they may hope to entertain you on this cloudy night." After Tino finished his carefully cultivated words he sat a bit more rigid in his chair, his thumbs wedged on top of the arms of the throne, his lip being bitten vengefully by his gnawing teeth.

It was only when Nickolas, wise and carefully thinking, spoke up like the coo of a dove.

"You speak with convincing words my cousin. I have known full well that you value the life that you come from above much of all else. I will listen to your tale." He spoke with sure voice, his eyes softening towards the Finn as the Norwegian sat up, his hands at his sliver cup, eyes careful as his blue laden gaze watched every man near him.

The Danes shifted next to him. They had loyalty to the _Dame Ulv _and so, not to displeasure the company that they were in, they too nodded and sat themselves upright. All hands of mead were lowered and plates of metal were lightly thrown to the table as each Dane, if not pouting slightly, decided to suffer through what they deemed blasphemy. If it kept their lady U_lv_ happy, then that was all that mattered.

"Aye. I sit at the fire, my ears will not be fettered." One Dane spoke—one of the rider escorts from yesterday that Tino remembered. Tino smiled at the man, a genuine smile that made the scruffy bearded Dane nod and look away, his eyes careful, cheeks flushed.

Another hand was flippantly waved as a few more Danes nodded and mumbled an 'Aye, I will listen.' Soon The Swede's joined, more sure and happy to comply to listen to the weaved tale of the Finnish lore. For they cared deeply for their Leaders Bride. It was only a tale, a bit of culture, a sprig of myth. No harm done they reasoned as they listened in, teeth chewing at the insides of their teeth, waiting for the hammer of Thor to hit them with a mighty crash of thunder. For surely there would be a price to pay to take heed in other Gods...But The Danish Lord had spoken truth. Perhaps all the Gods were one. With a grumbling sigh all the men crossed their arms over their chests and laid back in their chairs and sat more comparable on their logged seats. It was going to be a long night...

The Swedes had pledged their loyalty to Berwald and therefore to Tino. Each man, his movement careful, nodded in the direction of the petite Finn. A final sip, a small grunt, a scratch of the lip and then all was silent. Tino, his eyes scattering the great rows of men and women, swallowed thickly, his throat dry, head all but filled with weighty sand.

It was only when he felt the tough callousness of a hand pressed against his own did he look up to see Berwald, his eyes almost soft, gently looking down at the Finn. With a whisper so stunted, so quiet, the Swede spoke low and softly for Tino's ears only.

"Never be afraid ta' speak yer' mind in th's tribe. You are very sp'cial ta' all a' us. Never th'nk yer' not." He spoke with more kindness than Tino had ever heard in a long time.

Little violet eyes looked up into sharp cerulean ones and for a minute—for a split second, Tino knew this man before him was not a bad person. Was not a person incapable of being loved—of being cherished. Tino could give this man the key to his heart. Yes, he believed he could.

But in a bit of a hurry Tino made his brain quiet, made his blush subside and willed his ever changing heart beat to calm down and stay quiet. Now was not the time to swoon, to unlock another chain across his heart. He was here to tell a story—he damned near believed his life depended on it.

With a start, the Finn cleared his throat, gave a small squeeze to the Swede's hand (His pride be damned) and resumed his tale, Berwald's words giving him a small spark of courage.

"Many a days _Illmatar _swam in the water, finding little of interest, sometimes weeping and crying, looking up at the endless sky, wishing for a child of her own. A child to love." At this part Tino made a small noise in the back of his throat, images of Peter flashing across his mind. He too craved a child when he was younger. He wanted a son. A young strapping boy whom he could teach the long bow, who could collect herbs with him on hot summer days and who could snuggle with him in the bed of furs when the whether got cold. A young little boy, a child all his own. Tino bit his now trembling lip. He had that child now. A bow with chestnut golden hair, freckles as orange as the sun and big bushy eyebrows that could be woven into braids. With a shaky breath Tino smiled, his mind starting to rest itself. He needed to not think of these things now, he needed to focus, needed to keep himself in check. He was a man, a bride, and a mother. No tipping the urns of fate any longer. It was a destiny to accept. Though, such a destiny would most likely clash with his pride, but he'd deal with that later...he sighed. Much later.

"The wind it seemed, was the only one to hear her desperate prayers. He had watched Ilmatar for a long time, and had suddenly felt a wave of pity take hold on him. So, with a bought of love and caressing touches, he buffeted and swayed the young Goddess, bathed in the water with her, swirled around her with bliss until, the great Goddess became pregnant with child." A few rolling licks of red dusted Tino's cheeks, some Danes and Swede's themselves laughing and chuckling, some comments surfacing that were none too pure for the ears of children and saintly men alike. Even Berwald's cheeks had taken on a light hue of pink, this, Tino thought, was rather cute and a bit humorous.

"Heavy her stomach grew each and everyday, and happier she grew with every second as her belly fattened and her body floated in the water. She could not wait to bare her son, to feel her child's loving heartbeat against her own. But the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years until 400 years had passed by with nothing to show but Ilmatar's tear streaked face and a belly caressed with a child within." At this, Tino's face began to grow twinged with a bit of sadness, his hands becoming cold and a bit clammy even as they were calmly held by the Swede. He cleared his throat and began again, his tongue working slowly to say the words that had pained him and gave him hope since he was young.

"But she would not let her long pregnancy ruin her, and so she floated, her back rocking in the cold ocean, hair coupling with the waves, feet sinking into the water as she floated. Then one day, while the Goddess was pressing her fingers to her belly, praying that her child would spring forth soon, a duck, Golden eyed and fair winged, flew against the currants of wind with struggle and strife." At this point the men and women who had come by the fire to warm themselves began to look round the flames at their neighbors. They were weary of birds in Stories. Birds meant many different things, depending on the creature. An Eagle was something to fear, a crow to be hated, a falcon to be given awe, and a Raven to be worshiped. But a Duck? Never could a duck inspire fear or loyalty—it was just a dumb animal, right? The shifted in their seats as the young Finn, the articulate bride began to speak smoothly, his voice twinged with a melodic accent that made the Swede's hum and the Dane's grin.

"The female duck too, seemed to be heavy with labor, as she cawed with mercy and pity, her wings unable to support her pregnant body for much longer. Ilmatar watched the beautiful yet burdened bird, feeling a wave of pity strike her breast to her heart. With the courtesy of one creature to the next, she then lifted up her knee for the bird to roost upon and rest. The bird did just that. For a day she sat ad squawked, her beautiful eyes glimmering as Ilmatar was allowed to pet her downy feathers. That Night Ilmatar fell asleep to the soft croons of the duck and the warm water that circled her. " His words were softer now, more content, more comfortable. He did not fear for his life any longer. He was slowly steadying himself in the rhythm of his culture, in the soft lulling of the tales of his childhood, of his life and of his people. He did not have to be afraid, not when Berwald was with him, not when he was warm with the Swede's hand in his. It was this comfort, this warmth, this breakage of cold and anxiety that swelled around him that let him continue with hushed words, the story of his name.

"The next morning Ilmatar awoke to find a nest constructed on her knee made from brambles and kelp, shells and sticky sand. She scanned her eyes into the nest and saw with delight seven eggs, six of gold and one of iron. At once Ilmatar marveled at the beauty of the eggs and arranged them to sit nicely on her knee." Tino's voice was a bit slowed, taking in all the sparkling eyes of his listeners, their lips pursed and small chuckles escaping their mouths. A few men, laughing at the fact that it was a Celestial _Duck_ that came to the Goddess had to be quieted by his brethren, the mirth in his eyes sparkling. Tino paid no heed, instead, he continued with his tale.

"The next morning she found the duck, wrapped up in her soft feathers of white, huddling atop the nest, keeping her babies warm with her body heat. Ilmatar smiled at the duck and continued to wade on the water. But all the sudden she felt a sharp pain of hotness on her leg. With a sudden flick of her eyes she looked down at her knee and saw that the ducks body was heating the eggs—with boiling temperatures." The Finnish mans gaze flickered to the fire, his face, too heating up from the flames. He shivered.

"Each second the pain of the heart grew as the eggs became hotter and hotter until, with a cry of anguish—the Goddess jerked up her knee and the nest came toppling into the water—all the eggs were shattered as they crashed against the waves, the duck cawing madly." At this point the Finn's voice rose, his body straightening as he sat up, his eyes scanning the stars above, the trees around him, the thick blackness that was softened by the greyness of the clouds. He stared up into it all and smiled. Now it was his turn. He was the one in control, he was the vessel of the Gods, the oracle of the tale. The Swedes and Danes could sit like awed children. It was time for the Finn's story to come alive.

"The upper half of one egg shell became the heavens, the other half the earth below. The cracked and misshapen shells became mountains and cliffs, bars of sand and boulders. The yolk became the sun, _Paivatar_, and the whites the sparkling moon, _Kuu_. Cracked flakes of egg shells were thrown above to become stars that guide the heavens. The iron egg fizzled and shook and soon too it's place above as a thundercloud, Grey and huge, menacing and gloomy." Tino's voice shook a bit, his throat becoming painfully itchy as he took a sip from his white horned cup.

A few men had stirred and gawked, shaking their heads. For everyone knows the Moon and Sun were the Children of the bragging Mundilfari. Everyone knew the heavens could not be made from a measly duck's eggs, nor the earth that beat and coursed under their feet! It was impossible! Soon, some men spoke up to voice their opinions none too gently.

"A Duck? A _Duck_ made the earth—become some Goddess's knee was burned ah' little?" A Dane snapped, his voice sounding a bit slurred. Mathias narrowed his eyes, his relaxed body slinking forward, drink resting between his hands. A sharp glare was sent from Berwald to the Leader of the Southern Wolves Tribe, a glare that meant an itching of insults. Mathias growled and bared his teeth, but decided to shut up his half drunken kin.

"_Aksel...__Nu er der ikke tid til at vælge en kamp med løver parrer sig..._"* Mathias warned low in his throat, his eyes sharp—unblinking. The man, Aksel, grumbled but did as he was told, slinking back to his drink, his lips curled in on themselves in a grimance to the Swedes' directions. The Blonde Swedish soldiers only returned the favor by growling none to kindly.

Tino, feelin the tension in the air like a thick and heavy blanket of itchy wool, spoke again, soothing and calmly.

"Aye. A Duck. I can't say I don't agree with you—it is one of the less...noble of creatures. But aren't all animals able to teach us things, help up to remember who we are? The Lion and the Wolf—they are what we look up to. For power and strength, wisdom and cunning. To us Finns, the Duck is a symbol of simplicity and honesty. We resptect them and see them for thier gracefulness along the water. Though they may not be as mighty as the Lion or as brave as the Wolf, they are what my people hold dear..." Tino breathed, his voice soft and slow, his eyes shiny as they looked up to see the bleak faces once more, his face red and blushing. But there was no bleakness, no anger or frustration. Only understanding. He looked into those faces and saw patience, saw loyalty—saw a willingness to accept.

"Ya look like a Duck..." A voice said, soft and gentle—meaning no harm.

Tino looked up to see Mathias, his eyes sparkeling, mouth set in a grin. Nikolas too was smiling, tight and small it was, but there none the less. The Norwegians eyes were more careful, wary of the Swede's seeing the comment as a threat and not a joke, but so far no one budged.

"I...I do not!" Tino pouted—before remebering where he was, he straightened himself and frowned instead. Mathias only chuckled louder.

"Ah, but you do! You hair is almost white! It's like a Duck's down! I bet it is soft too—_isn't it Berwald_?" The Dane snickered.

Berwald's cheeks grew flushed—either with embarrsssement or anger, but either way it made the Dane's smile bigger, birghter. Tino himself felt his cheeks heat and his palms grow sweaty as they curled themselves round the Giants own long fingers to keep him steady, to keep him from lunging at the loud mouthed Dane.

"If...If I may continue..." Tino coughed, his head punding like the noise from a drum, the blood rushing all to his head. Mathias only smirked and nodded low to the floor, entreating the camp to worried glances and small boughts of nervous laughter. And so, the Finn began again.

"Soon time passed and the new land began to get the better of Ilmatar. She climbed onto the sandy beaches, still heavy with child, and began to explore. Where she touched a point of land was created, where she stepped a great lake appeared, Where she turned her head a bay was made and sealife as well as land life sprawled and thrived." Tino spoke, his voice slow and careful as he smiled with a bit of longing for the Beauty that was Finland.

"_The world was ready, only people were missing…_" He whispered softly.

"Another three hundred years she waited in the water for her child to be born. She waited for so long, shed all her tears, until, with a desperate plea, raised her hands to the moon, to the sun, to the great bear in the sky formed by crystal skys. She prayed and she cried for her child to escape, and with a heated chant on her lips, her womb began to shake." Tino's eyes lit up, his face smiling, as if a big bought of laughter was bout to escape. Nikolas noticed this on his cousins face and smiled. This was Tino's favorite story, because it was as if it was about him. His little Finnish cousin would brag that he was the great hero, the Great God that was born. It made the Norwegian smile. Best for Tino to enjoy himself tonight, for the next few days would be pure hel for the camp—this, Nikolas knew.

"Such was the movement from her belly that it created the tide that forever flows over the land, crashing on the shore every second. And, with a powerful surge, Ilmatar's son was freed from the womb, a man of many strengths, a man of much knowledge, a man of much courage." Tino's eyes grew glassy a heated look on his eyes as he stared into the fire. He could not look into the faces of the strangers before him—it would break the magic, break the story. No, best to look into the embers that glowed and hissed. This was his story, this was his tale, his mother always told him so. This was his beginning.

"The Moon and Sun and stars were shining as the red dripping sun rose behind him in all his glory…" His voice broke suddenly, his eyes blinking as he spoke the last of his story, the last of his comforts that he was indeed a strong man, a man of knowledge and a man of courage.

"The Finnish God-Hero, Väinämöinen, became the first man to set foot on the earth…

Human kind was Born."

…**...**

**TINO WAS NAMED AFTER A GOD! How many of you knew that? :3 Also, he is a Duck. I regret Nothing. **

**Authors Notes:**

-He swayed and he shook and soon, with all his strength he burst the waters open and with a start, foam began to rise and turn a pale white into the body of a women with hair a light gold cradled around her slender shoulders—the Sky's virgin daughter—_Ilmatar_."***-A famous Finnish Goddess**

-He longed for the crashing sounds of the thunder God _Ukko_ as he struck his hammer across the sky.***-'Ukko' was the Finnish God of Thunder and lightning. **

-He missed visiting the shrines of the _Haltija _every special holiday and solstice with his mother and father.***- 'Haltija' are Finnish Spirit or creature Guards that protect families and people.**

- He cried at night when he saw the beautiful shape of the bear from the glistening stars and not being able to share how wonderful, how deeply beautiful that animal in the stars was.***- 'Ursa Major', the bear constellation, was very famous in Finnish Pagan prayers because the bear was a revered animal in Finnish culture.**

- "_Aksel...__Nu er der ikke tid til at vælge en kamp med løver parrer sig..._"***-'Aksel, Now is not the time to pick a fight with a lions mate..." (Danish)**


	11. Praises for the Finn

**Hey Guys! New Chapter is up! Hope you enjoy it! (Sorry It's so short!) I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia nor it's characters—but I do own this story! (If I did own APH, Sweden would be naked allllll the time 3) **Thank you very much to **MalinChan**, **yotzie **and **Ruusu** for being my awesome Swedish/Finnish Translators! And thank you to my New Russian Translator the lovely and very helpful **Kooliobutterflyhahaha**! Thank you so much guys!** Much love you, you lovely and beautiful Scandinavians and Ukrainians! **

***Still Looking for that special Danish Translator guys!

**For this chapter I suggest listening to the song, "Eld" by **_**Månegarm. **_

…

All was quiet within the camp save for the crackling of the fire and the small snips and snaps of the yawning wolfish dogs that laid at the feet of their masters. Wolf like ears twitched and tails wagged as their masters were silent for a good minute, their eyes peeled wide, breath coming in long soft spurts that tickled the long twisted beards on their chins or the short stubble of growth that the young warriors were beginning to show.

Peoples breathing. That's what Tino could hear, or maybe it was the heat rushing to his head, or the gnawing of his lip as his teeth bit and chewed at his lips till his mouth tasted of warm blood. He stared then. Really stared at the people in front of him. The people that looked uneasy and confused, the people that had once welcomed him in with open arms now shifted their gaze from their leader to the small petite Finn that sat at the throne used for the lady of the tribe, the Queen, the_ Damen Lejon_.

Could Tino up hold such a position, such a title when not one of these people seated round him knew enough about him to judge him as _Damen Lejon_? Surely Nikolas could deem the Finn's character worthy enough to wear a crown round his small little head? Tino swallowed then. A crown of gold and sparkling jewels, a dress made of fine linens and lips painted rosy red—was that what he had to look forward to? Being a woman? Tino suddenly shook his head. No. He would not fight this anymore. He accepted his fate. There was no going back now. He only had to sit and wait, be the most appealing person he could be. He had to pass judgment against the throes of Lions and Wolves. He had to come out alive.

He swallowed thickly, dry spit against his even drier throat. With a red face, he stared.

It was only when a low chuckle, loud and reverent broke the stinging silence, the unbearable thickness that meant something was wrong, something was wrong and it was Tinos fault, did the silence end. The laughter shattered that gut wrenching guilty quietness within an instant. This, Tino was more than grateful for and he felt the need to show his relief by flickering his eyes low, like an animal that had just escaped the slaughterhouse.

Yet, when the Finn rested his poor glassy eyes on the owner of the laughing, he once again bit his lip into worry, for, lounging against the throne of dark oak and throws of wolf's hide, laughed the Danish Leader, his teeth sharp, eyes bright. Tino swallowed hard.

"Ta' think, that the Swedish Tribe Leader is to be wed to a Finnish _God_. Hah!" He barked with another fit of giggles, his hands on the arms of his throne, blue eyes sparkling. Nikolas shifted in his seat next to him, eyes steady, head turning slowly round the mass of men and women. Nikolas was quick to smile then, his eyes finding Tino, a glint in them that did not amuse the Finn one bit.

"I assure you My Lord, that my cousin is not one of the Gods of Asgard—though celestial in looks he may be, and well rehearsed in words. Nevertheless he will make a fine bride to the Swedish Chieftain and the Swedish People." Nikolas spoke with warming words to Berwald, his careful eyes reminding Tino of a wolf. Damn his fickle cousin.

"Then, perhaps he is a Nymph or a Alf? They are more common near lakes and streams but—My dear Love, does Finland not have many a Lakes and Streams?"* Mathias asked with a high quip of his voice to his Norwegian Bride, the Norsemen giving a small curt smile that was hidden behind his silver drinking bowl.

"I cannot say that my kin is of Superstitious blood as that." Nikolas spoke, his eyes flickering to Tino.

Tino, whose face was blushing a beat red felt the need to storm away from his teasing cousin who, up until now had mostly been on his side. But now that both of the Wolves nobility was picking on him! What was a poor Finn to do?

"I am no water Elf nor a Celestial being. I am but a simple man!" Tino urged, his voice raising a bit higher than the growls of the hungry fire. By now only coals were left, red and hot—some turned as Grey as the horizon against the winters snows. The heat only made his blushing face grow more red.

"Aye—but m' lady, ya' do look like one, a fairy perhaps!" An unknown Swede commented, his eyes blinking, lips in soft laughter. The rest of the men crowded round the fire chuckled and agreed, their lips pursed at the rims of their drinking horns.

"A fairy with amethyst eyes an' hair as white as snow!" A Dane lent his voice into the hearty conversation, his bristly hair looking a dull brown against the night dark cloak.

At this point Tino was ready to throw a major hissy fit—_'accept your destiny' my ass!_ He huffed.

"I am no fairy! I have no wings, and my ears are perfectly round!" He protested, earning a few fits of giggles around him.

"They mean no harm, tis' only n'tural ta' conjure up details a' yer beauty." Berwalds soft voice soundly spoke, his rough tone easing some of the roughness from his vowels. Tino looked up to his soon-to-be-husband and felt himself flush at the complimented words. They were spoken kindly, yes, but thy were also spoken for all to hear! Tino's face began to grow more heated by the second as the smiles round the modest fire began to grow.

"Aye, we need more beauteous things in this camp—our lonesome eyes get lonely—how lucky are we ta' have such beautiful Northern cousins within our midst!" Mathias' voice chirped up, his arm lazily extending to run his fingers against Nikolas' soft and cool cheek. The Norwegian did not turn away, yet neither did he blossom into the touch of the Dane. He merely stared back at him with a soft look, a look that was as passionately quiet that Tino had ever seen his cousin display. It amazed him.

"I am flattered my Lord, that you would call me beautiful." Nikolas spoke slowly, his voice sounding only for Mathias before he pressed his thin yet strong fingers into the Dane's own, the two clasping hands by the fires light.

"Thank you too, My Lord, for the compliment." Tino mumbled softly, his eyes watching Nikolas' fingers clasped betwixt the Danes.

Such a scene made Tino envious. That Nikolas had enough courage, enough indifference to clasp his hands with the one he loved without having his very heart split in two. It made Tino itch his fingers with want. Want for what his cousin had. Yet the Finn knew he could have it. The Swede that sat so regal yet so dutiful at his side would more than likely be willing to hold Tino's hands, kiss Tino's lips and cradle him till dawn. Tino frowned. It was Tino's own pride, his own unwillingness to melt the chains fro his heart that kept him stuck in the mud. Well. Certainly not this time. No, from this time on he would act as his heart wished, damned be his pride and damned be his fear!

"We 're but lucky men." Berwald spoke, a smile on his face as he looked down at Tino, his heart skipping a beat when he found a determined looking pout on his little wife's face.

_Cute..._ He thought, wishing with all his might that he might pinch those cute little cheeks that were stained so pink.

"It is nice tah' 'ave healers here too—When th' fightin' gets tah' be too much!" One Dane suddenly commented as he was nursing his cup of mead, the men around him grunted in agreement, already being reminded of their sore wounds and bandaged cuts.

Tino, nibbling on his cheek, decided to instill a bit of comfort into the tribes in the hope of being more liked. For if he could not find peace with the people—how in all of _Midgard_ was he supposed to find peace living as a _Damen Lejon_?*

"I...I...I assure you I will do my best to help my cousin with the healing of the wounded when the days get rough—And I can promise by my good name that I will heal the Swedish Heir!" Tino rambled, his soft voice like the sound of a worried mouse, but his words did wonders to calm down the current frowns and worried lines that were etched on the faces of the once thought to be crude vikings.

"I like this one, he is as noble as a lion and as pretty as a white little duck!" A Swede nearby barked, his eyes sparkling as he looked to Berwald.

"Keep 'em safe M'Lord—he shall make a fine Queen to us all!" Another Swede laughed and raised his cup in Tino's direction, his blonde hair shaggy and un-kept.

Tino, once again, feeling like he was drowning in the compliments, was about to state his claim of being humble and not needing such praises when he notice his cousin lift his own glass from where he sat.

"To the marriage between Tribes—of the Lions and the Wolves—to the marriage of hearts between Leaders and Brides!" Nikolas' voice was sharp and joyous as it rung through the small encampment, making every eye turn bright and every cheek grow rosy. Drinks of horns were raised and a yip and a howl were given out as sloshes of mead fell to the floor in great heaps, the big and bristly haired dogs doing their best to lap at the spill with their wicked pink tongues, their throats whining.

"Ta' th' marriage a' th' Wolfish-King an' th' Lovely Wise-Elk!"* Berwald cheered, his heavy set horn raised in a toast to Mathias and Nikolas, the two smiling—well, Nikolas smiling. Mathias was practically grinning from ear to ear.

"Aye! To th' marriage of th' Beast-like King and the Fragile-Violet Duck!" Mathias snickered loudly, raising his glass, the liquid sloshing round some, amassing to a sticky puddle on the floor that was quickly lapped up by two great gray beast-like dogs. Tino cringed suddenly, his fingers curling round his own mead horn.

Blushing from ear to ear at having the attention once again plastered onto him, Tino laughed nervously and nodded, his hands shaking as, mimicking Nikolas and Mathias, he took up his horn of mead, the liquid having gone cold long ago. Berwald too joined in the toast, happy that the awkward silence from before had been stamped out, and even more thrilled that Tino was willing to make a toast for their engagement. It meant something to the glaring Swedish man. It meant he had a chance, a chance to woo and love Tino like the young Finn deserved. It left a soft spot in his heart that was threatening to melt every time he was with the Finn.

Though the Swedish leader was a bit irritated at Tino being called a duck, his bristled mane was smoothed down when the four leaders clanked their mead horns together, drops of ale, mead and wine flying up in the air, only to land on the four fists. Each mans hand was dotted with a healthy dose of honey and liquor—though none really minded. And as was custom they took a small drink, Tino careful to sip lightly, as the twist of the horn would tip to closely to his lips and leave a stain of honeyed drink dribbling down his lip. He felt no need to embarrass himself any further tonight, thank you very much.

"To the Wolves and the Lions!" Mathias growled with triumph, the Danes and Swede's cheering with mirth, careful not to be too loud as the midnight stars glowed against them with a steady pulse of their own. Berwald too grinned with strength and glory, a smile that made every man cringe and yet cheer with respect, some with fear.

"To th' Lions and th' Wolves!" He barked, earning a yip and a howl from Mathias as the overenthusiastic Dane tucked his head back and drained his cup of mead in what seemed like one long drought. Berwald, too, feeling in better spirits then before, did the same, although with less of a show of course. Once his cup was empty of the golden liquid he ran his arm over his mouth to wipe off the honey that had sweetened his lips. It was only when Tino took a meek little sip of his drink did Nikolas lower his lips to the edge of his small drinking bowl for the last time that night as it was getting late.

Once the drinks had been drunk, the meat had been devoured, and all the bellies full, all comforting thoughts began to slip away as the fire grew dim and nights howl began to take refuge in the hearts of the men.

For now, it was time for talk of war.

…**..**

**Short Chapter is short. I'm sorry guys—some really confusing shit has been happening in my family now and it's kinda' starting to screw with my brain! So bare with the shortness of the chapters from now on—please? I love you. You know I do you lovely, beautiful readers. 3**

**DRAMA WILL BE COMING—IT'S GONNA BE A SHIT STORM SOON, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! (Hee hee and Sexy time 3)**

…**..**

**Authors Notes:**

**-**"Then, perhaps he is a Nymph or a Alf? They are more common near lakes and streams but—My dear Love, does Finland not have Many a Lakes and Streams?"***-A "Nymph" is a minor nature deity that dwells in forests, lakes, rivers, oceans, and mountains. An 'Alf' is a Swedish Elf.**

- For if he could not find peace with the people—how in all of _Midgard_ was he supposed to find peace living as a _Damen Lejon_?***_- "Midgard" is the Land of Men in Norse Mythology. _**

-"Ta' th' marriage a' th' Wolfish-King an' th' Lovely Wise-Elk!"***-Norway reminds me of an Elk. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?**


	12. Talk of War

**Ahh...It's good to be back in the mountains—where it's cold and foggy and all the grass is golden and dead! Perfect weather for writing Barbarians Healer, _Nej_? Well, Thanks for waiting so patiently, I hope you like this chapter, it gets a bit nitty gritty as I decided to get to the gore a bit earlier than was planned—so in the span of maybe **one or two** more chapters—get ready for—What? You didn't think I was actually going to spoil the surprise did you? Silly Readers. **I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or it's characters—If I did, Sweden would be named allllll~** the time. A special thanks to **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, and **Kooliobutterflyhahaha!** For being my Awesome Swedish/Finnish/Russian translators! 3 I love you guys!**

…**.**

"Do—D'ya' think we'll survive this? D'ya' think we stand...stand a' chance 'gainst 'em?" It was a soft voice, a broken voice, one that was rough yet pitiable. It belonged to a soldier a little ways from the fire, Swede or Dane Tino could not tell, for half of the mans head was bandaged with a thick strip of un-dyed wool, the fringes of the makeshift bandage blowing gently in the thick summer winds. His watery blue eyes were the only thing that Tino could identify, as a glob of drying blood flaked against the his hair freckled jaw, hiding his features. The scent of rain could be felt on the young Finnish Boys tongue. The scent of misery.

A heaved sigh was what followed next, a terse upheaval of breath that shattered any chance of going back to happy talk and merriment. The night was ruined—it had to happen eventually. No tribe could escape the onslaught of war—it was now the Lion and Wolf's turn to bade themselves from slews of arrows and edges of swords. There would be no talk of summer festivals and bonfires anymore, of daisy chains and roasted pig on the fire—only talk of blood running free and screams filling the air. It was time for talk of war.

"We stand a chance. We have enough soldiers, we have supplies to la-" The tired voice of the Wolfish-King was quieted by a sour bark of a grunt, a soldier, looking at his horn of mead bristled angrily, his laughter from before burned up with the endless smoke that shifted in the clouds. Tino cringed.

"We dun' have enough soldiers! Twenty-five of our men are wounded, fifty already dead an' burned. We have about a' hundred warriors—a hundred more if those Tribes from _Svealand_ keep their promise of aid! But who knows if they'll keep their promise!" The Danes voice was rough and worried, Tino already spotting the fear in his eyes, his hands wrapped in sorry looking cloth bandages. They were running low on medical supplies and he knew it. It wouldn't be long before they'd have to trade for some more or make them themselves—He would talk to Nikolas about it tomorrow when he got the chance.

It was suddenly the loud and booming voice of the Swedish Tribe leader that cut through the bitterness drenched sorrow of the night, his eyes steely, lips curled.

"_Svealand_ will lend their aid. They pr'mised on th' name a' m' f'ther they will send a hundred soldiers, all equipped w'th weapons, fifty mounted on war ponies. Their pr'mise is worthy in m' eyes—I'd bet m' life on it." Berwald spoke clearly, biting his words as if to protect against the harsh comings of doubt that might arise from the neighboring promise of _Svealand_. Berwald knew in his heart the neighboring tribes would not disappoint him. He had never needed to assure himself of their loyalty to the state, to the rest of the leaders that dotted the land. He was sure that he could trust the wise and old chieftain that had aided his father till his untimely death—he was sure he could rely on such a long lived alliance.

From what Berwald told Tino, _Svealand_ seemed like it would be able to hold it's bond to _Gotland_. Berwald had spoken kindly of the neighboring tribes, had explained how fond of _Svealand_ his past Father was of them. Tino knew they would aid the two connected tribes, he could see the assurance in his new husbands eyes. Those eyes that breathed and swirled like icy water after a misty rain. Those eyes that desperately wanted to believe that he would have help, that the tribes would not fall at the hands of strangers with strange ways and strange rules. No, Tino would believe Berwald on his promise as much as he could—for he desperately wanted to accept that they would have help in this struggle, help in this war that, until tonight, he knew nothing about.

"Never doubt the help of a Kinsmen. If the Swede's say their brethren will help, then I am of sound mind to believe that promise." Nikolas spoke with a thin voice, his hands tugging the woolen shawl closer to his small framed body, the night suddenly turning bitter, unleashing a blister of early fall winds upon the seated party.

"Aye. At this moment in time, we need as many men and as much help as we can get. The Russians are three hundred strong, leaving us with twenty-five wounded and fifty dead from the first skirmish near the marshes. We have about two hundred and seventy-five warriors, including those from Svealand who will surely come. Denmark has given all that she can, including the two warships that shall come at first light tomorrow. It is up to the Swede's to provide the man power now." Mathias spoke seriously, his drink resting on the floor, his hands playing with a broken twig, fallen from the tops of the rich green pines that flourished the area. He flicked it upon his slim fingers not once, not twice, but three times before he frowned once more and ran his right hand through his already messy and splayed locks.

"The Swede's will fight by m' command as th' Danes will fight by yours. We 'ave around seventy-five men mounted on Icelandic ponies, fifty archers who 'ill be stationed at th' front a' th' lines. The archers will be unleashed first, hiding th' infantry—we mustn't let the Russian's know how many few warriors we have." Berwald spoke, his hulking body leaning forward in his mighty chair, his hand reluctantly letting go of Tino's, making the Finn frown a bit, Tino having long grown accustomed to the giants warm touch.

"That leaves us with fifty spear men—your men I take it?"Mathias asked Berwald, as if the two men were in a private conversation—or at least that was how Tino felt as he was now being ignored by both tribes in the favor of talking about war strategies and figures and numbers that hurt the Finn's head dearly. Talk of what material to make the ropes out of for hauling the sharpen logs to guard the makeshift village—willow fibers or pine? Talk of how many men they could fit on a ship that has sixteen ports—at least thirty-two, maybe more if the waters are deep enough around the bluffs and the weather is fine. Talk of what they should do if, Odin forbid, they run out of iron spear heads—to which Mathias cackled and said, 'Nothing to be strained about! Set your men to carving reindeer bone stave's! Problem solved!'. Tino smiled grimly, his hands folding in on themselves, liking it much better when the food was set and the talk was light and cheerful. But, such were the matters that had to be entertained by one such as the Tribe Leaders Bride. Tino sighed. Well, at least he was not excused from the fire to wait in the tent like a good woman would in some of the tribes. No, Tino was very lucky that every free man and woman had a say within the tribe, that every free man and woman could raise their drink in agreement or scrunch up their face in distaste. It was a lucky thing for him that he was not brought to be a concubine or hand maid to the Tribe Leader, such a life would more than likely kill the young Finnish man.

The more time that passed as the sun was chased by the snapping wolves of the hour, the more Tino had to himself, to think away from his duties and from his entanglements. He was happy now...or, at least he was _learning_ to be happy. He was granted high status, given a sound job at his expertise, a son to coddle, a cousin to remember, and a village to love. He didn't think anything else in the world would make him more happy. But, he was wrong. Berwald. Berwald made things unbearably cheerful now. To know that someone was learning to be patient with you, to respect you, to love you unconditionally and not ask for much in return. Well, perhaps asking to be wedded to a Swedish Barbarian is a bit much to request from a person, but, Tino was starting to favor the proposal very much. His eyes no longer stung from the thought of marrying the Barbaric looking man with the cold eyes that seemed to bite into Tino's flesh. His lips no longer trembled with wails at the knowledge of never seeing his home again, his little farm with the leaky thatch roof and the crooked patch of cabbage that yielded enough to get by through the unforgiving winter. His stomach no longer churned with sickness and bitterness at the thought of sharing a bed chamber with such a man with rough hands and strong body that could snap a man in half, in fact, it was much to the opposite.

He craved the giants touch-was that so wrong? Too strong a word? Well, Tino could not say he thought the word was too exaggerated! For, how else was he to describe the warm feeling that bubbled within his belly whenever the giant was with him, when they had breakfast this morning, Tino shy and red faced, Berwald not looking much better.

It was a wonder things had happened so quickly, a wonder things had not fallen apart, but now Tino found himself jealous when Berwald's attention was not focused on _him_. When Berwald's paw-like hand was not perched atop Tino's cold and thin ones, and most of all when Berwald was not taking shy glances to look at the Finn's face, only to quickly turn away, cheeks as red as the winter sun on an early morning. No, there was none of that now, not when men's lives were being plotted and exchanged for a bit of land, a piece of marsh or a winding river bed. Not when the growls of protest or the howls of delight were rung through the Finn's ears like blood dipped weapons gnashing together with a sound so fierce it almost made Tino mad.

However, Tino _did_ have a tongue for war talk. He had lived through countless battles and scrimmages back home—yet he was never in such a position to _give_ advice, to _help _with the orders, to _divide_ land and territories, to decide who _died _and who _lived_. But now that he was _Damen Lejon_—did that mean his wisdom would be taken to council? He knew his cousin was much more sharp witted when it came to matters of calculating strategies and maneuvers—all Tino could do was take orders and fight, as he liked to admit that he was very skilled with a bow. Perhaps, he might be requested to have his say in the matter of how the archers should be placed after the first slew of arrows has been unleashed? He bit his lip, his curiosity of the war getting the better of him, his ears craving to hear the harsh words spoken by both the tribes leaders about the currant situation of the war. He was dying to listen, to understand, to devour the words that were being spoken, each one promising the end of a soldier, one of theirs or one of ours—it didn't matter. Most of them would be dead anyway...

"Aye, m' men will take up spear against th' Slavics. I will also place m' fifty archers in th' front of th' lines until the spear men and walking soldiers have advanced, then I will unleash th' arrows from behind th' safety of th' foot soldiers—with any luck th' mounted w'rriors should be th' last thing th' Russians see before they find there peace in _Valhalla_.*

"Leaving the rest of my hundred men to do what they do best?" Mathias asked Berwald, his grin never leaving his face as his long fingers began to twirl at the twig that was betwixt his hands. The dying embers in the massive iron pit doing nothing to smolder the Dane's white clenched teeth. Tino unwillingly shivered, his robes being pulled tighter round his shoulders by his deaf fingers.

"Aye—Split skulls heaped in piles." Berwald nodded, smiling grimly. Mathias threw his head back and cackled, his blue eyes looking like they were on fire—a cool blue flame that did more than to unnerve Tino at his very core. The rest of the Danes too began to stir and give soft quips of howls, the promise of war too great to contain them. To great to quench their thirst.

"I knew aiding myself ta' you was a great decision Berwald—What great fun it is to be in the midst of a war!" The Dane laughed again, a almost happy yet sad laugh, one that left everyone chilled and vengeful, seeking retaliation through the glint of a spear.

"My men will fight as well as wolves, we will bite and snarl, claw and yip. While your men, with great expertise, will gut the Slavic's where they stand with ferocious growls and mighty swipes of teeth and claw!" Mathias spoke again, his fingers finally snapping the twig in his hands with a small bit of force, the sapling branch falling to the floor with dulled _thwap_.

"We will surely have the blessings of Odin with this bloodthirsty talk." Nikolas spoke curtly, his hands crossed over his chest, betraying his coldness with anger.

"Ah, my love! You forget! The Allfather is king of battle, of soldiers slain! He will be watching us with his one eye—he will grin as we smash the enemy, crushing them under our feet! It will not be us that will feast in the hall of the slain when the mist has cleared and the swords lay still! It shall be the Slavic's who will pay!" Mathias grinned with exuberance, is eyes flashing like a lone thunderbolt caught in a winding storm. His teeth were sharp as Tino watched the Dane from the corner of his eye, his other violet eye carefully watching the Danish Bride.

Nikolas, pretending to fiddle with the crown of foliage around his bright and straw colored hair, began to take a sour look upon his face, one that made his soon-to-be husband frown and lean back in his chair like a freshly weaned herding dog told to wait in the corner of the barn until he became of use. Such treatment did not sit well with the Tribe Leader of the Danes as he frowned sourly, gently.

"My Lord, you forget how skilled the Slavic's are, how strong in numbers they behold. They shall carry either a mountain of war-ships into our cliff-like harbors, depending if they go south-west—such a militaristic move would leave us heavily wounded. We are the best fighters of the sea, yes, but the whole tribe of Denmark has only been able to humble us with two ships—the Swede's only three. Yet if the mood strikes those that come to us as foes, and they decided to go on foot, we shall have more than a herd of mounted men strung upon beast-like animals that they call _ponies_—clad with leather armor and furred hats adorned with jewels. They are strong my Lords, and should not be taken lightly—we are fighting a tribe with traits of the two headed Eagle, such an animal ruled to be in myth and covered with flames.* A Lions strength and a Wolf's cunning come great against a foe-man—but against a sharp talon bird with feathers that gleam red with fire—I shall not like such a winged beast upon me to pluck my eyes out!" Nikolas huffed, his eyes stirring back into their coldness, like the frozen ponds that dotted the area in the winter's harshness. His words stirred fear and respect and did their best to sober the men who were still carefree. Their enemy was indeed strong and well in advanced. It would take more than a few warships and a few hundred men strong to defeat such a wildfire.

"We shall not forget how great our foe is." Mathias almost bit out before he thought better, reminding himself who he was talking to, who he was addressing. Yet Nikolas was right, they were talking with fanciful gestures and weighty yet almost unproductive talk. The Russians would attack soon again, swooping down and stealing more than fifty men this time. The first attack, the one set in the marshes caused an uproar, a battle the Swede's were not prepared to fight—the Danes only settling within the war camp a few days prior from the last war camp made upon a Swedish forest range a few months ago.

It left them crushed. Many dead, moral low, and as if to set the whole thing in flames, the Russians had advanced in little over a few hours before the rest of the Danish were able to join the fighting and push the Russians back into the marshes where they now lay, quiet and still, small stakes of smoke that were left almost mockingly ablaze giving their only location to the Swedish and Danish warriors.

It was life or death now. Win and come home victorious to a warm hall filled with loving women and children with piping hot mead—or come home bloody and ragged on the tops of shields, no breath left in your sickly lungs—too blacked with putrid blood and the edges of a swords slit.

"Are we going to let loose a round of _berserkers_?"* One Swede asked, his voice weary and altogether too cold, too uncaring at this point. They all were, fire in their eyes yet sickness and fatigue in their bones.

Berwald looked troubled at that, his lips pursing to curl in on themselves, brow heavy, eyes weighed down with careful consideration. This, Tino did not like.

The young Finn had heard of the famed berserkers—for that was the root of most of Tino's ill will towards the vikings, towards the Danish, Norwegian, and Swedish Barbarians. The Berserkers were used to instil fear, anxiety, and altogether a wish for death. They were a group of warriors, low in number but high in strength who could tear down an entire village within an hours time, and destroy all the people within it, women and children included.

Tino would never want to be on the end of one of those warriors, clad in nothing but breeches and a wolf or bears hide, necklaces of claws and fangs wrapped round their blood soaked necks, foam frothing from their mouths as their eyes shown something wild and none together human.

Tino shivered, knowing that unleashing these fathomed and hallucinate warriors upon the Russians was too cruel a fate for the Slavics—no one could live through such a brutal attack-right?

A few men within the camp twitched and shifted, pulling their woolen cloaks closer to the face, the fire long having died down to embers, not capable to warm even ones night chilled hands.

"_Nej_. We will not call upon th' aid of Odin's warriors. We have no need fer' such a royal army—we are strong as we stand, conscious an' careful witted we shall remain. Until we are in d'sperate need will we call upon th' bear and wolf warriors—but now would not be wise—not when they are still large in number..." And that was that.

Even Mathias, who would usually fight Berwald on something-even if the Dane himself did not take a liking to it-quieted his hums and growls. He too knew bringing in a small squad of brutal murders would not be wise—not when it has only been the fist battle. Better to save the warriors of the bear and wolf for a later date, when even spears and axes seem to not be able to pierce a Slavic's shield.

"If we shall not need th' help a' th' Bererkers-then p'rh'ps we can ask th' aid of th' Norwegians?" A Swede asked, his eyes hopeful, head craned to look at the Danes who sat across from the Swede's their faces just as gloomy, shadows casting over their eyes just as dark.

Mathias was the first to shake his head, Nikolas looking absolutely quiet and still, mouth tightened into a think pink line, the cold already dusting his nose a hushed red.

"The Danes and Norwegians are friends yes, in perfect Union. But the Lady_ Elg _is not recognized as having royal blood of the Norwegian tribes of the North.* The Danish tribes that are not ruled by my territories will not recognize him as having lead of the Norwegians—No aid will come from our Union in itself, though perhaps we may receive a few volunteers who take up sympathy or the Danes?" Mathias pondered, his jaw resting betwixt his hands, brows worried into knots.

Nikolas could be heard chuckling lightly beside his husband, his throat already becoming much too dry for this summers season.

"Come my Lord, you know very well you will not take charity from my kinsmen." Nikolas spoke softly, teasing Mathias for his brash words and thick pride.

Mathias did his best to regain his cheerful smile.

"Aye, you know me well love, This young pup shall ask for no bone from the Elk." Mathias murmured, stroking his brides thin fingers lovingly, his sighs softer now, voice more weary.

Tino frowned, jealously hitting him like a ton of sodden bricks. How easily Mathias and Nikolas spoke loving names to one another—how the years of their meeting has evolved into pleasure and comfort and love. Love. It was his own fault he wasn't as affectionate with Berwald as he could be. It was his own fault and therefore he himself had to remedy it! No sense getting jealous over petty things, over moments that he had been denied by his own pride and selfishness. No more of that. No, it as time to change, for the better. At least, he hoped.

"Then I pr'sume if we can't h've Norway's help then we shall get no aid from Finland?" A Swede asked, his voice thin and strained, his eyes flickering over to where Tino sat, the Finn already feeling a horrid lump growing deep within his throat.

"I...I um..." All eyes were on him, all mouths hushed and quiet. No on made a sound, no one breathed while they waited. Perhaps Finland would send them help, would grant them aid in these troubling times?

"Sou—Fin-Finland..." Tino almost bit his tongue, his native language begging to slip from his lips to yell, scream, protest against Finland ever sending aid to these Barbarians! And yet...He so wished he could smile and say, 'Aye, of course you can rely on Finland, I shall aid my husbands tribe in any way that I can. You shall have three hundred soldiers by tomorrow.' But...He couldn't say that. It would be a lie, no matter how much he would try to sugar coat it. He knew the Swede's could expect no aid from the Finn's, no aid from the Norwegians, no aid from anyone but themselves.

"Finland has seen many a hardships at the hands of the Swedes and Danes...I do not think any of my kin would join such a cause... Though my blood is Finnish, and my Union is to the Swedes—none of my brethren will come to your aid, this I am sure of." Tino murmured out sadly, his eyes slowly becoming wet, his head hung low.

It was only when a hand, heavy and warm wrapped itself round Tino's shoulders to squeeze lightly, did Tino look up from his sniffling and ashamed face to see Berwald, a gentle smile on his lips, eyes kind and soft. The giant, without a word, squeezed Tino round the waist again with a friendly gesture, one that was meant to assure more than advance. It was at that moment that Tino realized that Berwald didn't see him as a Peace offering—not really. Tino was not an advantage to be gained, a prize to be one and used to the Swedes' advantage. Berwald knew that when he chose Tino as his wife there would be no benefit except a loving wife and mother to his child. He did not seek Tino for military exploitation, ransom or slavery. He chose Tino because he loved him as a human being, not as a Finn, as a Queen, not as a _Damen Lejon_—but as himself.

It left another lock on his heart severed and broken, turned into ash from the pure heat of his heart as Tino nudged his body into that touch of calloused hands, that smile of warmth and those eyes of caring gentleness. He could let himself go in those heavy eyes...But! But now was not the time! Tino should not be looking at his soon-to-be husband with such admiration, such love, such...dare he say it? Lust!

Or...Should he? Should he let his feelings peek through, to all these people who regarded him as powerful at their leader—who called him Lady, Queen, _Damen Lejon_?

Tino smiled softly, his heart overheating, hands numbingly warm as they made a bold move to snatch at the hand of the giant Swedish man next to him.

He should. Oh he should he should he should! He would give his affections over—let his emotions be known. He was falling in love and it was time he showed it! He would be a loving bride, when the moon struck him of course! He would be a strong leader, when was needed of him of the battle field! And he would be a proud and gentle mother, that which would always be needed of him from his dear little Peter.

He would be all of those and more, he vowed to himself, his hart now heavy with a good feeling, a misty feeling that bit wonderfully at his eyes and made them fog and spark with wetness.

He was about to cry and he knew it, the emotions too much for him. Berwald, who had been watching the Finn with worry ever since Tino began to fret and flutter in silence, gently started to massage the Finn's hips in a friendly way, doing his best to keep his intentions clean and light.

Yet, do to his overdrive of emotions, Tino took the gesture entirely out of hand and had to throw his hand to his mouth to stifle a giggle and a sultry grin, his head feeling light and misty and oh how misty it was! Misty Misty Misty! Like a forest clouded by red and pink and all those sorts of pretty colors! But...But...Tino blinked quietly and quickly looked over to his now worried husband, his husband who looked handsome and strong, gorgeous and sexy altogether and—arg! Calm down Tino!

The now dizzy Finnish man began to breathe more quietly, placing his hand on his breast, his lungs filling themselves with much needed cold air. Oh how he needed air!

Nikolas too seemed to take notice of the Finn's desperate gasps for air, his fingers already heaving himself up from his chair quietly, with the stealth of a doe walking through the forest at dawn.

The rest of the men, aided by Mathias' instant talking, were coming up with strategies from the back of their heads in case the Russians do come by through the cliffs with sails raised high. Thankfully the warriors, being all subdued by talk of war, did not notice Tino's little fit—and luckily, Nikolas did.

With shifting robes that dragged across the softly packed earth, Nikolas delicately picked his way over to his cousin and his fiance—the little Finn being calmed down by the aid of the Swede, Berwald going to far as to feed Tino some cold water from a ladle and pale nearby.

"My Lord..." Nikolas breathed out, tapping Berwald lightly on the shoulder to get the hulking Swede's attention. At the touch Berwald lifted his head and blinked at Nikolas before his ashen brows fumbled in worry.

"Dun' know what's wrong... He suddenly started ta' shake an' tremble..." Berwald spoke, placing the ladle down into the wooden pale and scooting it out of the way below his feet.

Nikolas smiled knowingly, seeming to have an idea at what riled Tino up. Carefully taking Tino's hand in his, Nikolas helped to stand his cousin up on his own two feet. The Finn wobbled at first but, with much patience on his part, Nikolas got the suddenly sleepy Finn to his feet.

"Berwald, the talk of war must have excited him too much—perhaps I should get him to bed..." Nikolas murmured before Tino, eyes a bit hazy, suddenly jerked up and, with a widened gaze, spoke with a whine.

"No! No! I am fine, really, I was merely thinking of my husband—I...I mean of _Peter_, yes, I was worried for Peter! In fact, I wish to check up on him, my son." Tino murmured, the fire in his breath beginning to out at his slip up—he did not want to mention to Nikolas what he was feeling, fearing that his clever cousin would tease him to no end! No, it was better to keep these things between him and Berwald. Yes, such was best.

Nikolas, as if sensing the lie, raised his brow, Berwald too beginning to blush, his cheeks tinting to a light pink.

"Alright. If you wish to see your son then so you shall. I shall only take you for a moment though, then you must retire to the hut—you look weary my cousin, sleep will do you good." Nikolas murmured, his arms helping to steer Tino away from the already cold fire pit. But, before Tino could be completely shooed away, he made a quick and stubborn movement with his feet to veer to the left, gently elbowing his way out of Nikolas' grip. Nikolas, crossing his hands over his chest, merely watched as his cousin took the few steps to trot over to Berwald, a definite red gracing the Finn's cheeks.

"Anythin' ya' need?" Berwald asked, his eyes wide as he watched Tino stumbled closer to him with timidness, the Finn obviously drunk with something though Berwald knew it not be liquor. "I can send a handmaid ta' kindle th' fire in th' tent—are ya' cold?" Berwald tried again, his hands awkward as they rested on the chair arms of his throne, his eyes peering around him, thankful that their eyes were now on Mathias, who was gleefully instructing on the best way to sever a head with minimal energy so as not to get weary of killing. Berwald cringed.

"I am a little cold..." Tino murmured, his voice dulled yet warm, much to warm. He was excited, excited at realizing that he actually meant something to Berwald, that he was cherished and loved and adored and worshiped and cared for and...Oh my, yes he was cold, and he needed a pair of warm arms to heat him up!

"Want m' ta' get some firewood sent in ta' th' tent?" Berwald tried again, confused out of his mind as Tino began to lean into the Swedish giant, the Swede's usually bone colored face turning scarlet. Tino smiled softly.

"I want...Something warm..." Tino whispered, his eyes careful now, his heart sober yet still beating widly.

"F-Firewood, _Ja_?" Berwald murmured, his eyes starting to become more frantic then ever before. Tino paused, his smile dimming some. What did he want? A Kiss? Perhaps...Sex? Certainly not yet! He scolded himself for even thinking such a thing! Hmm...Maybe a hug? Yes. He could safety say a hug and a kiss sounded wonderful, maybe Berwald would take him up on his offer and cuddle him to his chest during the night—so long as the giant remained chaste in virtue! Then, a kiss and a warm embrace was what he needed, he was more then sure the bumbling and stuttering Swede would be more than happy to oblige.

"I want no firewood in my tent, Berwald. I Shall not be needing it." He murmured softly, relaxing his neck back, standing up straighter from before. Berwald swallowed a bit harshly than was needed.

"N' why is that?" He asked softly, a whisper above the war shouts of his men.

Tino smiled then, a normal, no lies shown upon his lips.

"Because I shall have my husband in my bed to keep me warm..."

…**...**

**Am I rushing this? Oh Dear I hope not! I just really want there to be some movement towards the dating stage—I mean, come one, this many chapters and not even a REAL kiss? I know, I'm mean. Well, this was a bit longer than the current ones I've been dishing out and I hope you like it! PLEASE REVIEW OR THE DOLPHINS WILL EAT MEH!**

**Authors Notes:**

-I will also place m' fifty archers in th' front of th' lines until the spear men and walking soldiers have advanced, then I will unleash th' arrows from behind th' safety of th' foot soldiers—with any luck th' mounted w'rriors should be th' last thing th' Russians see before they find there peace in _Valhalla_.***-'Valhalla' was basically Viking heaven for those warriors who were slain on the battlefield. They would drink and eat at an endless feast and could continue to fight and battle throughout the hall.**

- They are strong my Lords, and should not be taken lightly—we are fighting a tribe with traits of the two headed Eagle, such an animal ruled to be in myth and covered with flames.***- The bird mentioned here is the Phoenix, a famous fire bird in Slavic myth. **

**-**"Are we going to let loose a round of B_erserkers_?"***-'Berserkers' were a group of warriors in Norse society who went into battle intoxicated with a mushroom to give them hallucinations and special feats of strengths. They often wore bear or wolf hides and were known as the first shape-shifters. They were also particularly brutal during battle—once unleashed there was no stopping them. They would kill, rape, pillage, fight and burn anything in sight. They were truly a force to be reckon with. **

-But the Lady_ Elg _is not recognized as having royal blood of the Norwegian tribes of the North.***-'Elg' is Norwegian for 'Elk'**


	13. Brave Thinking

**Hey guys! New chapter is up! I hope you like it! **I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia—if I did Berwald would be naked all~~~the time!** I'd like to thank my lovely Swedish/Finnish/Russian translators, **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, and **Kooliobutterflyhahaha**! Much love to you guys! I couldn't do this without you! So sit back and enjoy this tale of Vikings, love, and battlefields soaked with blood! REVIEW OR THE DOLPHINS SHALL GET MEH!**

**( For this chapter I recommend listening to the Swedish Song, '**_**Månmors Gästabud**_**' by '**_**Ulvens Döttrar'**_**.)**

…**.**

Perhaps it was the alcohol in his veins, or the strain of the nights cold and drafty air that whirled around his head, or maybe it was a combination of both—but all the giant Swede knew was that couldn't have been what he had heard. That wasn't...It couldn't have been...It must have been a trick of the wind, right? His ears must be deaf, perhaps the mead in his cup was too strong?-the spices mixing into his head to cause his mind to drain of sanity?

Berwald felt his face melt into heat, his eyes blinking rapidly like a flushed out fish gasping for breath on the shore—eyes wide and mouth agape.

"Mhh...Berwald, are you okay?" it was a delicate voice, flickering with warmth that brought Berwald back from his maddening stupor of blankness and irrational thought. It was a sweet voice, one that reminded him fondly of honey-fresh honey on the comb, with all the yummy little waxy bits that used to get caught in his teeth, and no matter how hard he picked at it, his teeth would be full of the stuff.

Or maybe the voice was more smooth, like fresh churned butter-or fluid, like the sound of a song bird, maybe a robin. No, no, the voice was definitely sweet. Sweet and fluttery, sweet and loving, sweet and…

"Berwald?" There it was again, that whisper of a voice that carried so much weight it made Berwald jump in his seat almost, his eyes wincing slightly as they came back into focus, back into reality.

Berwald looked up into the face that matched the voice and was very pleased-a lovely complexion, small face with soft cheeks, thin milky neck and straw colored hair that swept like wild grass over amethyst colored eyes that shined as bright as embers. He would make a beautiful bride, his soul and nature were of the best innocence and beauty.

"Jus' thinking' is all…" Berwald mumbled shyly, feeling not only those fresh and slightly misty eyes on him, but also a pair of blue slated iris's belonging to Nikolas who, acting like Tino's own personal caretaker, had his small impish hands laced around the waist of the Finn who was starting to giggle and fidget, running his hands over the large rusted orange animal hide that was nestled over the Swede's throne.

"Thinking? It is too late in the night to be thinking…" Tino whispered, his voice sounding a bit more sober and gaily as he stroked the long strands of musky fur of the animal hide, capturing Berwalds own attention as the Finn suddenly dipped his head to nuzzle the fur.

_No, much to late in the night to be thinking… _Tino convinced himself as he felt his face tint with stains of red. He couldn't think, not with mind and logic, but with heart-or how else was he to open up to Berwald? The little Finn reasoned.

"So soft-like finely spun wool…" Tino murmured, planting his face once again in the russet fur and earning a small chuckle from both the Swede and Norwegian.

"Aye, 's soft. Though I 'ave ta' say it is not a' wool-it is an animal hide… A Lions…" Berwald informed with a small glint in his eyes as he watched Tino, mouth open with amazement as his head raised from the Lions skin, his eyes blinking madly, Nikolas chuckling next to him.

"A Lions? A Lions fur?" Tino ran his hands over the now more precious than silver coat, his hands coming up tangled in the fluffy undercoat of the animal that smelled of places more lush and beautiful from where he came from, places mythical and beautiful. He felt good when the fur touched him, when the claws, dulled with special care, grated like sawed off knives over his forearms. He felt in control with this famous beast captured and sprawled out under his hands, he felt in control and he liked it… He liked the smell of this once wild creature and the way the golden threaded coat glinted off in sparks when it was moved to the light. He liked it more and more… He liked it because…Because it reminded him of…Berwald.

Berwald was a fierce man, with cold crystalline eyes that pierced like pieces of flint cast off into flames. His stature was tall and taunt, like a wild cat with claws flexed, his jaw powerful and rugged like that of a beast-he was wild. And yet, there he sat, with a bemused look in his eyes and a small smile made especially for Tino. Tino was in control-or at least, had a good bit of influence over the older male. It was a pleasant thought, one that made him feel more relaxed in such a terrifying presence. But it also made him wonder if maybe, Tino would get to see the wild cat in Berwald, and not just the sweet and mellow house kitten. Something told Tino that such a thought would maybe get his fingers burned, but oh what a delicious scorching it would be…

"Are ya' alright Tino, yer' lookin' a little…uh…"

"Aroused. You are looking a little bit aroused." Nikolas spoke bluntly, the tracings' of a smirk on his lips when his cousin, snapped out of his thoughts like a rude slap to the face, bolted upright. With a red faced glare aimed towards his cousin he threw his hands from the hide of the lion and placed them at his side with a sigh of frustration, his mind forcibly washing away all the little fantasies that had erupted into his brain with just a flicker of heat.

"I…I was just thinking…" The Finn mumbled quietly, choosing to not look his future husband in the face as his own cheeks took on the heated glow of shame. Nikolas simply smiled more brightly-which in turn alarmed Tino to no end, knowing full well it meant something extremely horrid for him.

"Oh? And what was it that you were so heatedly thinking about, dear cousin? Enough to make your cheeks stain red gold?" Nikolas' voice was soft as he urged Tino to talk, the Finn's face only erupting into more pinks and reds than a winter sun!

"I was…Merely thinking…" Tino's tongue was all up in twists and knots, his eyes flickering to the lions skin and to the actual lion of a man that sat across from him, both wickedly strong and powerful, both noble yet contained in flesh and in fur. Tino bit his lip and swallowed thickly with much effort, his hands twisting behind his back like a scolded child.

"Ya' were thinking'?" Berwald asked this time, his eyes genuinely concerned, his mind not making the painful connection to realize why his little bride-to-be was flushed in the face and looked to be in danger of fainting-or worse, screaming in anger and stomping his goat hided feet all over the ground like he was more than partial to doing.

"I was thinking… About how much I love Lions… How much I love their fur, their eyes, strength and…power…" Tino spoke quickly, surely, without so much as a waver in his usually timid voice. And what a voice it was, enough to make Berwald more confused than ever and slightly overjoyed-hoping that those words meant much more then they were supposed to.

Nikolas too, shocked by such sure and yet tricky decoded phrasing blinked back a few baffled moments of amusement before he smiled slowly like a cat.

"I myself am fond of powerful creatures too, my cousin, yet I must confess a Lions coat suits you much better, as a wolfs pelt suits me." Nikolas spoke softly, collecting his cousins hand in his once again, just in time to see Tino blush red and sputter softly as if all the air was being pushed from his lungs.

"Now my Lord of Lions, I fear I must take this little Duck from your grasp. It is already late, _Hrimfaxi_ has long since galloped across the sky with the nights dew and I fear dawn is fast approaching. A young bride such as my cousin should have been tucked under the covers long ago."* Nikolas spoke with gentle cooing, his hands collecting Tinos' robes, draping a long and stiff cloak of beige and carefully dyed linen of blue across his shoulders to keep off the coming cold.

"I am not a child-I have no need for curfews…" Tino was about to start to argue when Berwald spoke up, his voice like the soothing sounds of a trickling stream, enough to make Tino flush, for this mans voice was sweet and lovely, not all together garbled or bad…just, very…jumbled-like a purr.

"Aye. It is late, an' I myself feel th' nights chill. Shall I escort ya' to th' tents?" Berwald asked, his body raising itself from his throne but Nikolas placed his hand up and smiled.

"No, that will not be needed. I myself know the way to my wolf's den and I shall help Tino to his-We will be quiet alright." Nikolas assured the Swedish Chieftain, Tino looking a bit soured as he pouted, insisting that he was not a child and that he should decide if he was ready for bed or not.

But, the sun had long since gone down and his belly was beginning to ache something fierce from all the food he had consumed, and he still wished to see Peter-perhaps it would be good to set his eyes on a nice warm bed and crisp blankets…

After a bit of reluctant thinking, the Finn quietly looked his cousin with a small nod, agreeing to be led away from the slowly dying bonfire before turning sheepishly back to his husband who was nodding to the Norwegian, agreeing that it was indeed late and he had to wake up early to have a meeting with Mathias before the Sun had set high in the sky. It was time for rest.

"Before I lay my head to sleep, dear cousin and dear Lord, I wish to see Peter-I wish to check on his condition." Tino suddenly insisted, doing his absolute best to not appear the least bit tired even though his body cried and creaked for rest and his eyes felt so heavy in his head.

Berwald, finding that he could never say 'no' to the beautiful and sweet boy in front of him, simply nodded with a small smile, as big as he had ever mustered, and gave Tino immediate permission. He was the healer of the tribe after all, a Barbarians Healer.

Tino smiled with relief as his request was granted, and turned to Nikolas who smiled also, the Norwegians eyes looking a bit more relaxed as they dissolved into a fine plum-colored blue.

"Then, I fear it is goodnight my Lord, I thank you for an excellent feast and an even more wonderful greeting for my cousin." Nikolas spoke softly to the giant Swede before, with a subtle nudge to Tino's ribs with his elbow, ushered the Finn to do the same. To give a proper good night, to give a proper thanks, to give a proper sign of love.

Tino, with legs that felt faintly as if they were filled with wobbly hay and not flesh and bone, made a small step with his feet to the giant before, with a small clipped amount of breath, moved his lips to create soft spoken words that sounded as if they belonged to a shy sparrow.

"Yes, Um…Thank you for the feast-I've…I've never tasted any better meat and honey cakes in all my life!" Tino laughed nervously before swallowing harshly, his eyes wide and glassy as he scrambled for more breath, more courage, more damned heart!

"And…Uh…A pleasant goodnight to you, My Lord…" Tino whispered through a trembling mouth, his stomach feeling queasy, the words feeling false and a little over forced. This didn't sound right…this wasn't from the heart…

Tino was about to apologize for his lack or words, for his awkwardness as he stayed still in front of the Swede, as his little Finnish neck began to prickle and he became aware of how damned foolish he must look like when the Swede before him suddenly spoke.

"There is no need at' call m' 'Lord'. _Berwald _will do just fine, eh?" The Swede said softly, his lips pulling up into a smile as Tino nodded and, with a bit of new collected courage, leaned down to kiss Berwald upon the cheek in a flash so quick you could hardly tell it happened.

But it did.

And it left the Swedish Northern Lions Tribe Leader completely red and dumbfounded, which in turn made the Finnish Northern Lions Tribe Leaders Bride exuberantly happy as he turned on his heel and exited the path of drinking men who were scrambling near the last bits of warmth for the fire, not knowing that their leader had sunken back into his chair and was blushing like a love struck idiot.

….

"That was quiet the brave thing you did back there." Nikolas commented as he caught up to Tino, his Finnish cousin grinning from ear to ear, his face flushed, nose a bright red as he breathed into the cool night.

"Aye. Wasn't it though! And I'd do it again! And again! And again and again!" Tino giggled as he jumped in the air laughing, his feet pitter pattering all over the graveled ground, earning the stares of a few people who were huddled outside near pits of flame, nursing the last of their cups of mead.

Nikolas smiled, happy to see some joy in his cousins eyes, the Gods knew Tino needed it. It had taken a lot of Tino, all the struggle and feats of emotion-but now the Finn was starting to look better, show signs of being healthier. His hair that had been marled was clean and bright, his face no longer a sickly pale but worshipped a lovely glow that only appeared on the face of one struck by the grace of Freyja. His step was livelier and his mouth was curled into a soft smile. Yes, this was the Tino that Nikolas knew and loved-and hopefully was _in_ love. For why else would the Finn be so bold and bubbly when in the midst of the Swede? Yes, Tino was in love, and he was now coming to realizing it.

"Well then, shall we go to see Peter? His wet nurse should have gone to bed by now-the tent will be yours to do with as you wish." Nikolas spoke, wrapping his woolen shawl closer to his body, reminding himself to fix the few wrong stitches in it when he had some time away from the attention craving man-child that was his fiancé.

Nikolas sighed, knowing full well that that would be _never_.

"Well, I would actually like to look after him alone for a bit. I want to see if he is doing good-if the fruit diet has been helping him." Tino mumbled off, his feet carrying him towards the direction of the grand tent that was the Swedish leaders sons.

Nikolas nodded in understanding, smiling at his cousin who had taken great steps forward in his new life. Nikolas knew the Finn was growing accustomed to his surroundings and was even embracing them, much like he did with his new adopted son. Well, it made the Norwegian smile a whole lot more.

"I understand, I'll leave you to your work." Nikolas smiled softly with his eyes to Tino, the Finn returning the favor with a small hug, his chin buried into the Norwegians shoulder, his eye pricking back tears.

"Thanks Nikolas, for…well, for everything." He breathed, nuzzling into his cousins shawl, Nikolas patting his back soothingly.

"You accomplished this yourself Tino, not I. Yet I'm glad you are allowing yourself to be happy…" Nikolas breathed with smooth breath, his hands giving Tino a final good pat before they parted, Tino wiping his misty eyes and smiling as his hands began to fiddle with the leather tarp of Peters Medical hut that stood before him, a thin light from what must have been a lone candle shining through.

Nikolas waved goodnight quietly before turning away, his heart calm and quiet, like that of the night that smelled faintly of smoke and the sweet boiling of honey.

…**.**

**I was going to make this longer, believe me, but my inspiration got shot down for this story after a few hours of writing-but I still have to say I like this chapter a lot and I hope you did too! Hee hee Tino is getting braver! Remember guys, reviews are always welcome to keep the Dolphins at bay! **

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**Authors Notes: **

**-**"Now my Lord of Lions, I fear I must take this little Duck from your grasp. It is already late, _Hrimfaxi_ has long since galloped across the sky with the nights dew and I fear dawn is fast approaching. A young bride such as my cousin should have been tucked under the covers long ago."* **- "Hrimfaxi" ( Frost-Maned) was Nights horse who would create the dew that we see in the morning from his sweat and lather when he chomped on the bit. **


	14. Visiting Hours

**Hey guys! Ready for another chapter? I know I am! But first I would like to give a major shout out to my now **many** translators that have joined me over my time writing for ! A big thank you **to MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99, **and** Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**! Thank you to all my Swedish/Finnish/Russian/Danish translators! So far my translation jobs are filled! I do not own Hetalia, but I do own this story-so enjoy!**

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As soon as Tino threw back the deer hide tarps of the tent his eyes were welcomed to the sight of a sleeping Peter, the little freckled faced boy covered with a heap of warm and brightly dyed woolen blankets, a small hot cloth pressed to his forehead.

With steps so quiet they would put a small stealthy rabbit to shame, Tino made his way over to the side of the large bed, his slippers leaving imprints on the dirt laden floor that was cool to the touch.

Being ever so careful, lest he wake the boy from his light sleep, Tino took the watered cloth from the boys head and dipped it in a near by basin that was filled to the brim with warmed water brought back from the small mountain stream and boiled in the hearth.

The water stung with it's burning temperature as the Finn nursed the cloth, the liquid biting his fingers, but he ignored it, choosing to focus on his little son with quiet diligence.

After the hot cloth was pressed to the little boys cheeks, the shock of temperature must have woken him, as his light eyelashes began to flutter and his mouth opened to breath out a yawn that befitted a lions. Tino smiled, awaiting the boys wakeful state with kind eyes.

"Hello my little Lion cub, are you feeling better?" Tino cooed softly, his body already feeling the familiar senses of carefulness as he tended to the child. Peter yawed once more before he began to shift in his blankets, his head peeking up from the mound of cloth and linen.

"I am Mamma… My throat doesn't hurt as much but my stomach still itches something awful-and its much too hot in this stuffy ol' bed! I want to go out and play!" Pouted the young boy, his glassy eyes growing more irritable by the second. Tino only smiled brighter, glad to see that his son still hadn't lost his sense of stubbornness.

"It's much too late at night to play, my little one, the sun has already gone to bed…" Tino said in hopes to deter the boy, for the little lion must stay well in bed for at least five more days or else he risked harming himself even more-And Tino would never let that happen, not if he could help it!

Peter, upon hearing that his time for play was so easily snatched away, began to whine and fret, cocooning himself in his mound of blankets as his lips turned into a sour frown.

Tino sighed lightly before he stood up stiffly to bring back a little three legged stool beside the bed, the legs of wood skidding against the dirt floor leaving ruts in their path.

"Well, how about you be a good boy and sit up so Mamma can see how you are doing?" Tino asked, his eyes expectant as he began to peel at the blankets that layered over the small British boy.

Peter, not wanting to give up the fight so easily, grumbled and sunk deeper into the sweaty covers.

"Peter…" Tinos voice took on the tone of warning, his eyes growing a bit more stern as they looked to the little lump wedged underneath the covers.

Tino could hear Peter groan with surrender before he began to shimmy his way back up to the opening froth of blankets, his face still scrunched like that of an angry little goat. Tino couldn't help but giggle.

"What's so funny, Mamma?" Peter demanded as he spied his Mamma laughing, the little boys blue eyes becoming more curious. Luckily Tino had peaked Peters interest with his giggles and successfully got the little child to sit up, his back pressed against a mound of duck feathered pillows.

"Mamma was just thinking about goats and their funny beards, honey…" Tino murmured as he began to untie the twisted knot of Peters tunic, deciding that the one the child had on now was much to sweaty and dirty for the child's own health-best to get a new and clean one…

Peter scrunched his face as he looked back to his Mamma, the image of a goat's beard not seeming as interesting or as hilarious as his new Mommy thought. Peter chewed his bottom lip before getting rid of the thought all together, deciding to investigate what Tino was doing with his arms.

The Finn has begun to strip the pleated tunic from the child's shoulders, the sweaty linen clinging to his small frame irritably, making it harder and harder for the Finnish man to be rid of the thing. Plus it was an even bigger hindrance when Peter decided that he very much liked the tunic and did not seem to want to part with it.

"No, Mamma! You're just going to put some smelly stuff on my tummy-aren't you? I know you will! I don't want you too! That stuff smells so icky-like a horses bum! Like my ol' orphanages Scones! Yuck!" Peter rambled, crossing his arms over his chest as Tino fought to get one of the child's arms out of the heavy sleeve.

"Peter-stop being such a naughty child! I'm only trying to make you better…" Tino insisted as he began to lift the undecorated garment off the child, the boy's red face seeming to deepen in color as if he was aware of how he was behaving and becoming embarrassed by his temperament.

"Mmmm…I'm sorry Mommy… I guess I was just a little bit cranky-Uncle Nikolas says I'm not allowed to have any cookies or tea… I can only have…" He twisted his face into a scowl, "Fruit and veggies…" He blanched.

Tino smiled, his eyes darting to the other side of the room where a wooden tub, no bigger than his head, was tucked under the table. He got up and milled his way to it, plucking a wash cloth and some scrapes of dried lye soap.

"Vegetables are good for you honey-and the tea with sugar will only make you worse-Come on! Vegetables are yummy!" Tino smiled, his voice as cheerful as can be as he returned to place his items on the foot of the bed that was too far down for the child's feet to reach.

Once again Peter stuck his tongue out.

"You sound like Uncle Nikolas…" He groaned, flopping himself backward on the bed pillows, his feet lazily kicking themselves from his covers-the warm hut indeed sweltering with the heat of summer and from the small fire that was stoked in the dirt pit in the middle of the room.

"Well, of course I sound like him! I lived with him for a good bought of my life…" Tino mused before his eyes began to sink into a misty color, his hands slowing as he fiddled with the lye soap, dry yet oily in his hands. He began to remember all those times back when he and his cousin were young and very much happy with themselves and their humble lives…But those days were over. Yes they were together again-kin united and happy-but things had changed. No more humble settings-not in the lifestyle that Tino was now being dissolved into, with elegant feasts and good rich fatty foods, warm big beds and baths-ohhhh baths…

The Finn nudged his nose into his shoulder, taking a deep sniff of the cleanliness that was his new scent. Ahhh… No more dirt and grime.

But.

But. That also meant no more solitude. No more rummaging into the middle of the forest from a break from farming-to sit on an old tree stump and pick at the bread that made up his meager lunch. No more feeding farm animals-the little scrawny chickens that had become his friends…No more picking berries when the weather got just right…no more…no more being…him?

No. He could still be him, just…. A different version of himself. A more complete version. He was still Tino through and through. Only now it was Tino and Peter. Tino, Peter, and Berwald. Tino, Peter, Berwald, and the whole rule of a Swedish State. Tino's face grew pale as his stomach flipped. Oh dear…so much power so much possibilities for greatness…. So much danger…

Tino worried his brows together, reminding himself that even though this was a war camp he was completely safe… Berwald would protect him… He promised Tino he would.

Shaking away the tremors of thoughts that wracked through his brain, he chose instead to focus on Peter, the boy looking expectantly at his other parent, the child rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

Tino smiled lightly at the boy before grabbing his other hand that was not covered in runny snot, and helped him off the bed, the Finn noticing the lack of certain redness in most of the scars-a good sign in his book, but still not enough to make him relax. Peter was still sick, and all treatments and precautions would be taken to aid him. Tino would exhaust all options.

"So, other than feeling a bit itchy and stuffy-Do you feel a bit better?" Tino asked as he leaned down to the floor to take a look at the boys ring marks, the red having gone down some, but still barely enough to call it an improvement.

"Mhhh… My nose is really runny-and my throat is not so dry-but I'd really like some tea…anything will do, Mamma, just a little-please?" The child begged, scratching the top of his rounded belly, Tino taking the child's hand away from the marks lest the scratching make it worse.

"I'm sorry my little lion cub, but no tea-only fruit and vegetables for five days-and plenty of water to flush out the nasties in your tummy!" Tino said, poking the child on the nose, making him smile some before he pouted again.

"Now, hold still-Mamma is going to give you a small massage on your legs and arms before giving you a bath-skin circulation is important!" Tino mumbled before he wrapped his hands in a linen scrap of cloth, his fingers pressing against the child's skin lightly, making Peter giggle and squeal with laughter.

Tino, careful not to touch the infect area, ran his hands numbing over Peter's elbows, arms, wrists, fingers, and back up again, creating a nice flow of color in the child's usually sickly pale colored skin.

Next he did the legs, making Peter giggle so hard he almost kicked the poor Finn in the face after Tino tickled his toes. But soon, after a quick touch of fingers on each little toe, while distracting the child with a sweet song, each toe was tugged and given a proper pat before the Finn deemed the rub down done.

Next. To find some water.

Tino new enough about the soldiers to know he would not be allowed to walk to the stream at night through the lovely Swedish forest-no way. He also knew that half of the camp population would already be asleep, and those who would not be asleep would more than likely not aid the Finn-seeing as how Tin probably wouldn't even have the language skills to even _ask_ for such help. Damn being in a village where hardly anyone speaks your language. Tino grumbled.

"Mamma, what's wrong? I want my bath!" Peter whined, his feet squishing in the dirt below him as he began squeezing his clothed knees with his fingers impatiently. Tino frowned, unsure of what to do.

"Well, I would love to give you one-but Mamma doesn't speak Swedish very well and I have no clue how to obtain the water for your-!" Tino was cut off by a short yell by Peter, the boys head lifted to the ceiling.

"_JUDIT_! _ELSA_! _BEATA_!" The child yelled before he smiled smugly, his hands crossed over his chest with glee.

Tino, mouth wide open as he stood in the middle of the room, eyes blinking, was deciding whether to scold Peter for yelling so loudly in the middle of the night or to ask why in all of heaven did the child _yell in the middle of the night in the first place!_

But before Tino could decide upon the two things he heard the shifting of the hide tarps and three women, with ropes of un-dyed cloth weaved into their hair, scuttled into the tent with great hast. Their eyes were unmoving and very plane as they, with quick voices began to jabber and grumbled, seeming to scold Peter for such a loud call that could be heard by the moon himself! Yet it was when they three women looked up to meet the eyes of the little Finn that they began to take quick gulps of breath and talk with soft voices of greeting, bowing and blinking with glassy eyes in the Finnish Brides presence.

It was all very fast paced, the women coupling themselves around him and tugging at his hands, leading him to the most lavish chair in the room. Pushing Tino down gently the Finn's bum was laid onto a wicker chair stuffed warmly with woolen blankets and soft deer hides.

Tino was about to protest, to tell the women that he merely needed their assistance in fetching some water, but apparently his protests were being ignored as one women went so far as to heave a great big wooden chest from under the bed to use as a foot rest for the Finn's dainty feet.

Catching his Mamma's distress, Peter, sitting up from his stool, made his presence known by coughing slightly, attracting the three women's attention, their eyes lightning with a suddenly warmth that made Tino feel suddenly at ease.

Peter, his smug smile still in place, pointed to the women in the dulled crimson frock and, in a polite yet stern tone, spoke a clipped order in Swedish, jutting his finger once more to the tub that was at the Finn's feet.

"Vatten snälla, Beata…"* The young lad spoke, his lips articulating the words in a crude yes understandable way-much more advanced that Tino was. It was that thought alone that made Tino suddenly determined to learn the smooth and curvy language.

The women in crimson, a blonde with long twirling braids, snapped out of her stupor and nodded meekly, before, bowing to Tino with a blushed face, snatched up the wooden tub and scurried out the front opening of the tent.

By then the other two women had begun milling round the tent, mumbling and muttering things with such soft and fluttery voices, lighting every candle in sight till the tent was illuminated with warmth and light.

Tino, realizing that he was acting like a complete awestruck idiot by just sitting in an over stuffed chair, decided that he would prove himself useful by collecting some rags to wash the young English boy-that is, before he was stopped in his tracts by the steely glare of one of the older women-about sixty-who, with her commanding presence, gently but firmly guided Tino back to the chair where he sat and huffed and sulked.

Damn the Swedes' and their intimidating nature…Tino growled in his head as he crossed his hands over his lap, making it perfectly clear to the other two women that he was not a happy camper.

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**Abrupt Ending is Abrupt. I know, I know, I suck. BUT! I have a good reason-I am deciding the fate of Tino in a nightgown hehe… Suggestions are allowed in reviews! 3**

**REVIEW DAMNIT! *BEGS***

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**Authors Notes:**

-"Vatten snälla, Beata…"***- "Water please, Beata." Swedish translation. **


	15. Dressed Up With No Where To Go

**Long Time no see! Sorry it took forever to get this updated! I'd like to thank my Swedish/Finnish/Russian/Danish Translators: **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**! Also **I do not **own Axis Powers Hetalia nor its character but **I do own **this story! For this chapter I suggest listening to "**Skrån**"by **Ulvens Döttrar**. ENJOY!**

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The older women who had sent Tino to the corner where the Finn suspected she thought he wouldn't hurt himself with sharp shiny objects, was busy rummaging through a large cedar trunk that was wedged near the back of the tent to the left of the bed.

Tino watched curiously as she struggled with the hefty thing for a minute before, rolling up her sleeves and squatting down, she was able to lift the heavy lid off the damned thing. Immediately a flew of warm pine scent from the wood mixed with the heady dust of it escaped into the now dry air of the tent.

Sitting up from his seat to inspect the woman and her now rummaging fingers, Tino recognized the chest as a wardrobe trunk, filled to the brim with clothing that was dulled with age yet still lovely just the same, with soft colors and beautiful stitching-crosses piped with pinks and browns, tattered ribbons knitted along sleeves, bone clips and buttons perched and stretched and cracked with age.

Yet at once, before Tino could catch any more than a quick glance at the items that laid within the trunk, the woman sat up, her fingers yanking upward a clothing of some type, undyed so that it shone dully in beige. The collar though had some elemental showings to it-ruffles, he believed, or at least some warped lines streaked and creased against the collar, probably from the linen's long slumber untouched in that rough looking trunk.

Yet it was such a lovely simple thing, the draping of it fluttering, like silk-but Tino knew that was impossible-not even the Swedish tribes could have gotten their hands on such a rare textile all the way from the East-even if the Swedes' were quiet prosperous with the trading routes that rippled along their land.

Though Tino's simple humming and appreciation began to peak for the flowing-dress? No, it wasn't a dress, surely not… Was it a cloak? No, it was too thin, too thin and flowing-perhaps a nightgown? Ah yes, it looked as much. The sleeves were the right length and the entire thing was more than long enough to cover ones shins… But why would the Swedish woman, with great struggle and care, bring forth a dusty yet lovely nightgown from it's sanctuary of cobwebs and dust?

Unless…

Oh no, oh no, oh nooooo.

Tino's eyes widened as he bit his lip in an attempt to stop the pure squeal of embarrassment from erupting past his lips.

He wasn't expected to wear such a thing, was he? He'd do just as well with some trousers and a tunic! There was no such need for him to be swaddled in such a lovely nightgown! He would practically feel naked in it-as he was much more used to the warm coddles of wool that he would wrap himself up with every night before he was _kidnapped _and brought to this Gods forsaken place.

Yet the old woman, nightgown in tow, began to scuttle over to the Finn who was practically screaming a mantra over his head of how he prayed at that moment he would be turned into a bloody duck and fly the fuck out of the deer-hide covered room before he had to place that silken thing over his shoulders.

It was much too fine looking for him, with red stitching at the top, curling's of rose blooms along the things neck, the weight of it looking snug and secure and damned if he was going to wear that beautiful thing in Berwald's presence.

At once his cheeks frothed a rose petal red that matched the old and stained ribbon round the nightgowns neck-a dried pulpy rose clinging with its last strength to the tied linen.

Well. Wearing nice things such as the cloak, such as the robes, and broaches and such-it wouldn't be all bad. Tino would have never had the chance to wear such fine things, such heirlooms-never mind Swedish Chieftain and Queen clothing! He was a simple Finnish farmer before-but now, now he was a Swedish Queen! A Bride of status, a mother of kindness, a patron of stability in times of war! And didn't such a feted and honored Finnish man such as himself deserve some fine clothes once in awhile? So what if the nightgown was a bit…personalized and showy…and feminine and dusty…and rose like. Very rose like. It would be nice to feel fine tailored cloth on his weary and rough skin from time to time.

And, as if to convince himself further-wearing such a thing would surely delight his people, judging from the old crone like woman who was hobbling over to him and placing her wiry yet warm hands on his tunic. Her thumbs met his wrist in a firm touch as she clicked her tongue at him, as if she was trying to coax a small ducking to enter into her lap so she could ruffle his feathers and kiss him atop his fuzzy little head.

She heaved him upward with her vibrant strength, which Tino was surprised to find the woman still had in her age, and stood him on his still timid feet.

Tino smiled his best, his face still red and his breath warmer than ever-but. He would get to wear nice things like this-lovely smelling things, things that had been washed, dyed in perfumes, stitched with care. Not tattered shawls and coarse woolen clothes with ugly grey colors. Call Tino materialistic but he knew he would like to treat himself to the finer things in life such as these-he only warned himself to not let it go completely to his head. Such as with Freyja and her love for all things fine and pretty, the Goddess paid a steep price for a necklace of gold.* Tino only hoped he could contain his want for luxurious things and not fall prey to such follies.

He was still in deep water no matter how many life rafts presented themselves around him in the swirling depths. He needed to tread lightly on these matters that presented themselves to him, for each one could very well help him to ascend higher in the eyes of his people and to show them that he really did care about their customs and thoughts-or they could leave him in ruin and left in the dirt with a spear through his chest.

If wearing a nightgown gained him favor in the tribe, or at least in the eyes of three handmaidens, then sign Tino up to wear a whole froth of 'em.

Of course the proposition of him having to sleep in the same room, probably again in the same bed as Berwald did not faze him either. Tino hummed through his teeth as his face grew pink, a blush smeared over his nose and ears. The Finn was not completely put off with the prospect of sharing a nice big bed with the man, curled up in sheepskins, the humming warmth of the mans arms, the protection it gave to the young Finn. Tino had often, when he was back home in his drafty cottage, slept with Nikolas' in the Norwegians bed as they huddled for warmth like they used to when they were kids.

Tino loved that, cuddling and being touchy feely with someone and sharing warmth as you curled your toes against theirs and dreamed of honey cakes and raspberries plump and red.

Tino sighed smoothly and softly, being reawaken from his thoughts again. His mind stirred little as he let the woman busy herself with sliding the overweighed and, to Tino's dismay and embarrassment, the slightly dirty and sweaty cloak from his thin shoulders before his thoughts graced back to Berwald and the night time activities.

The Heavens knew it would be nice and surely warm to sleep in a big hay stuffed bed with Berwald, perhaps, if Tino was feeling really bold, he would allow the giant to cuddle him till dawn in quiet slumber-the winds were high tonight it seemed-perhaps the Swedes' arms round his waist would give him some added warmth?

Yes. Fine Tino, you are doing this for warmth-not for chances to snuggle with a very nice looking Barbarian. Tino huffed and bit his lower lip with his teeth, chewing on it almost till it shown red.

The old woman had finally peeled off the robe from the Finnish mans body and with a gentle but assertive grip of her bony hand, took his shoulder in her locked fingers and helped him out of his tunic which Tino soon yelped afterward at being stripped so suddenly. The little Finn was all but quivering in this woman's presence, like a shaking leaf does in the throws of the Spring winds.

But Tino soon realized he could not protest against the stubborn woman for she began to push him forward against his numb legs and set his footing against a small set dish along the floor filled with white milk and bobbing flower petals of meadow sweet, wild roses, and broom. Tino's mouth sputter violently as, with biding words and more damnable clicks of her tongue the old woman literally _lifted_ Tino's right leg up like you would do with a pony's leg, rolled up the slim cloth of his trousers till they reached his knees, and dunked his foot into the smooth and buttermilk like mixture which he realized had been heated as it burned slightly and left his feet prickly and pink.

"Ah! Ow!" Tino flinched as his toes wriggled in the scented mixture that was supposed to aid his aching feet yet only made them burn.

"Mamma, hold still, it won't feel too bad after a few more minutes-I've seen uncle Nikolas get his feet washed a _hundred thousand bazillion_ times before! He seems really happy gettin' treated like a lady or' something'!" Peter smiled from behind Tino, his own feet being scrubbed red with a bit of raw sea sponge, his little bum sitting on a stool and he sat patiently as the other woman washed between his toes.

"Ah…well," Tino tried to not sound too ungrateful but damnit he had never had the urge to have hot milk poured on his feet and he wasn't about to start now!

"It's just, It's a little hot…" At Tino's careful and worried voice the old woman, with a spark of understanding in her watery grey eyes nodded up at Tino from her crouched place on the floor and helped him lift his feet out of the shallow bowl of sweet but hot liquid. As soon as his toes hit the gravely floor she wiped them off with a few twists of cloth and set the pink flesh to throb quietly-the smell of warming roses filling the air.

Yet the ministrations of the women were not over at the third one finally returned again with a piece of birch wood laid across her shoulders strapped with two rims of cedar buckets filled with steaming water. The young girl looked to have had quiet the time bringing them to the tent and Tino thanked her for her effort with a kind smile that she returned sheepishly.

And then it began. The endless pampering.

As if foot baths of heated rose silken milk wasn't uncomfortable enough, Tino was forced to sit down on a wooden stool side by side with his new son (who was practically glowing with happiness at the special treatment that Tino was sure he got every day), and was stripped to his long underwear, kid you not, till the Finn was groping his hands over his chest and waist to keep some of his body covered from the judging eyes that he was sure roamed his body. Then came the washing with perfumed water that stunk so much of angelica and cedar that Tino almost had an allergic reaction to the damned stuff.

In between as well the woman would chat to themselves in Swedish, to which Tino would scrunch up his face in confusion and look to Peter for answers, yet the freckled child would only snicker and cough before ignoring Tino's whispers playfully.

Tino heard things such as "_Han är klen-men jag antar eftersom du inte är menad för barnafödande så är inte höfter nödvändiga..._"* Spoken with wonder and a bit of disapproval. Then there was the response of the other woman with a delighted chirp of "_Ja-men han är vacker! Se på hans ögon_!"* and finally the eldest who had first approached Tino put in her few words with a hum of contentment. "_Han kommer bli en utmärkt brud för vår ledare._"* To which all Tino got in decipherment was a simple smile from the woman and a giggle from Peter, leaving Tino sour and stubborn and not amused at all.

And although for the remainder of ten minutes he did get rubbed down somewhat violently by groping old ladies and sheepish girl hands, he rather enjoyed the feeling of, once again, being squeaky clean, even if it only pertained to his chest, neck, shoulders and face.

Each woman was careful thankfully though to not touch Tino too close or intimately. It mostly just like petting and motherly pinches and coos, which, Tino admitted, he secretly loved because it mad him feel like these women were his mothers or sisters coming together to take the tension from his shoulders and tell him all will be well, all will be well Tino.

After a while Tino was even able to start up a conversation with the women who were busying themselves now drying Tino off with fluffy sheep skin pelts and who were heeding to Tino's instructions of rubbing mustard seed paste onto Peter's infected tummy which, thanks to the washing, had toned down some in color.

Yet not matter how much Tino was able to instruct the three lovely if not assertive ladies, he was never allowed to treat Peter himself, at least not tonight one of the ladies spoke to him in broken Finnish. For tonight was the _Dala Lejon's _night and they had strict orders to paper Tino in exotics till he glowed brightly like the lovely pixie he was. Or something as equally silly as that. Yet those words only left Tino with a stinging urge to suddenly have a little chat with Berwald about how Tino did not want to be drowned in incense and oils and vibrant foot massages-Tino was still just a regular human being. He could take fine clothing and bathes, sure, but this was all much too much.

After Tino was dried off and Peter was packed tight into his cradle like bed that was five sizes too big for him, Tino was thankfully allowed to wrap his trouser and tunic-less body in the night gown that made him look like a damned ghoul or a ghost.

The nightgown was large yes, and it smelled like moths, but it did feel good round his shoulders and ever Peter giggled and spoke kindness to his Mamma on his appearance, saying Tino looked "like a Goddess draped in white lilac." To which Tino smiled and thanked Peter for his compliment with a peck of a kiss on the child's forehead before tucking Peter more securely into bed and filling up a small horn of water flavored with honey and ginger powder to sit at his bedside should the child need it in the middle of the night.

And then Tino was shooed out of the tent, left to whisper murmurs of goodbyes and sweet dreams and lullabies as Peter smiled back in the hushed and thick and warm darkness of the tent and drifted off to sleep in the spring air that smelled so sweet to Tino's nose.

…..

**Oh damn it feels good to be back on track and writing. It's a lot of work but sitting down in front of a pot bellied furnace drinking warmed spiced drinks and eating chocolate really makes ya' happy to be alive and writing. So, I hope you guys enjoyed this well overdue chapter! REVIEWS! I LOVE THEM! (Also thank you to **skkt** on tumblr who gave me the nightgown idea-I love you lots! 3)**

…

**Authors Notes:**

-Such as with Freyja and her love for all things fine and pretty, the Goddess paid a steep price for a necklace of gold.*-**This is taken from the Norse Myth of the Goddess Freyja in "The Necklace of the Brisings". Where Freyja, so enchanted by a golden necklace, sleeps with four dwarves as payment and in turn angers Odin who decrees that she must kill men on the battle field for her to be forgiven. **

-"_Han är klen-men jag antar eftersom du inte är menad för barnafödande så är inte höfter nödvändiga__**...**_**"*-"He is thin-but I guess if you're not meant for childbearing there would be no need for hips..."- Swedish Translation. (Thank you to MalinChan and yotzie!)**

-"_Ja-men han är vacker! Se på hans ögon_**!"*-"Yes-but he's pretty! Look at those eyes!" Swedish Translation. (Thank you MalinChan and yotzie!) **

-"_Han kommer bli en utmärkt brud för vår ledare._"***-"He will make a fine bride for our leader." Swedish Translation. (Thank you MalinChan and yotzie!)**


	16. A Kiss So Sweet

**Hey guys, here's the next chapter! I hope you like it-things heat up quiet a bit between Tino and Berwald. FINALLY! **I do not own Hetalia **nor **it's characters **but **I do own this story**. I'd like to thank all my beautiful translators: **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen. **I suggest listening to the song "**Månmors Gästabud**"by **Ulvens Döttrar**" while reading! Now sit back and enjoy this chapter written with lot's of love guys!**

…**.**

As soon as Tino, led by the hands of the three woman who clutched at his elbow and shoulders, left the tent, the night air seemed to hum and swallow Tino whole with it's heat and grace.

The rains has seemed to give leave to the Swedish forests and plains for many a days and so everything was crisp and dry even at night-no dew dripped yet from the tightly closed flower buds at rest, no crowing of roosters nor the howls of dogs-everything seemed to be at peace. Or…

At least that's what Tino would have liked to have thought.

Truth be told, it _was _rather quiet when the four of them stepped from the confines of the lavish hut to pick their way through the blackened road back to the tent and hovel that Tino would rest in during the oncoming days and nights with Berwald in the war camp. The three woman, utterly silent as they escorted Tino down the gravely path, did very little to calm Tino down with the absence of their once stern but talkative voices. They made not a sound, not a clatter as their tiny feet ghosted over the dry ground that did it's very best to trip Tino in his robe.

But then, it all became clear to Tino exactly why the women were as quiet as mice in a field escorting a fine jewel of sorts-because what loomed over the field above the mice were falcons ready to strike with claws and beaks to snatch the jewel away, or to at least grant it some harm.

Without a warning a great ruckus was brought to attention in the night air that seemed to shake the very stars above.

Tino, his eyes growing wide, feared it was a surprise night attack plotted by the Slavic's over yonder in the marshes-yet, when he began to sweat and turn his head to glance at the women who acted like a barrier of flesh and bone round the young bride he saw merely annoyance in their eyes if not a bit of worry. There eyes were prickled and seething, their mouths a tight line of mother and sisterly disapproval.

t was up ahead of them that Tino caught sight of why they were so agitated and growling.

Skirted along the path that thinned up ahead was a row of men and a few women who had contented themselves to wade around the almost silent huts and finish off the few leftover jugs of ale and spiced cider-their laugher and song drifting over the hills, reminding Tino of the noise he had heard just before when the feat had first began and escalated.

Ah.

Drunkards. Drunkards were the cause of the problem.

Tino sighed through his teeth as he, hiking up his robed and planting his goat skinned boots to the floor that his caretakers had allowed him to keep on his feet, he began to quicken his pace, his shoulders acting as a crutch as he let the other two older women lean on him, the younger one leading the way-the tent just in sight-almost there-almost within reach…

"_Damen Lejon_!" Came the loud voice, much too loud for…what was it? One in the morning?

Tino shut his eyes tight for a quick second before, remembering that these were his people and they were just a little drunk from enjoying the earlier feast in _his_ honor, quieted his annoyance and transformed it into soothing words that sounded as if they came from a mother to her naughty children.

"Good evening, Sir's, Ladies." Tino smiled simply, graciously before he sucked in a quick bit of air between his cheeks and skirted his was back to his destination, which was all but a good few paces away. Surely they would leave now, surely they would leave him to his peace and quiet!

"Ah-_Damne Lejon_-come, 'ave one final drink with us! Tell us stories a' yer people, th' fairy folk! Tell us how ya' got yer eyes so lovely!" One of the men, Swedish Tino presumed by the titled the drunken man gave Tino, slurred.

The happy drunk mans friend who was next to three other gentleman let out a loud snort and a laugh before he hobbled over to the barricade wall of the three woman who hushed at him and scolded him. He seemed to cry out in faux pain as one of Tino's escorts rapped the man on his round head with her fist, his brown curly locks bobbing away from his forehead.

The other man, shorter than the other only laughed louder and louder and held a drink outwards near Tino before a third man shoved him with a jeer and the liquor from the cup sloshed about and fell near Tino's feet, missing his nightgown by a breaths away.

"_Hej_!"* The younger woman, Beata, Tino remembered her name to be, shouted in scolding, her red lips ready to yell at the man and shove him back into the ground when all the sudden the swishing of a blanket was made and the tarps that had been so far silent behind Tino suddenly flew open to reveal the flickers of candle light and….Berwald.

The giants eyes scanned Tino's once, for a quick flash of a second to make sure the ruckus he heard from outside had not tarnish nor hurt his lovely bride, before his jade orbs rested heavily and frightfully on the gathering of men and woman at the Swedish leaders door.

"_Att vänta vid din ledares tält med hans brud i ett nattlinne i mitten av natten-är_

_inte det bästa sättet att lova lojalitet till din ledare…_"*The words were spoken harshly, warningly, seething as they left Berwald's mouth and washed over the group of people who seemed to jump and stick their feet to the floor. Even the three handmaidens shuddered and scuttled away, their services no longer needed. The rest of the raucously loud group gaped like fish that had just been flung out of water as they huddled towards each other and shied away, muttering apologies and _sorry's _well into the night until Tino and Berwald were the only ones left outside in the waxing moonlight.

"Ehehehehhehh…Good evening..." Tino found was the only thing he could manage to mumble under his breath, his voice sounding shaky and nervous as he shifted from foot to foot outside the tent. What Berwald had just spoken to the group of intoxicated people Tino did not know, nor did he want to know. Tino was only glad that, once again, though Berwald had shown his dangerous growl, it was thankfully not aimed at the Finn.

Berwald blinked once, twice, thrice, before, with extreme effort he softened his glare to a minimum and with a sweeping arm pulled back the opening to the tarp to let Tino inside it's warmth, his mouth mumbling a "g'd evenin'" as well that didn't seem as strained as Tino's.

Once Tino, pattering on his tiptoes from new achieved embarrassment, entered into the deer and ox hide hovel he found the whole array of the inside to be decorated brightly with stubs of candles. Pale in color and smoking slightly they silently glowed, making the setting look more romantic that Tino's poor little heart could take.

"Um…Berwald," Tino was about to comment on such an arrangement of candles and…bushels of wildflowers in vases that dotted the tables and stools….oh, really now Berwald? Tino bit his lip and almost squealed with abashment.

The Swedish Viking was too much.

But before Tino could voice any more of his thoughts, his confusions, Berwald stole the Finn's very breath away with a glance. A glance that commanded quietness and peace and attention. And Tino gave the giant just that as he quickly sat himself down on the bed, ignoring the fact that he was wearing a nightgown with a rose tied to it's collar, that Berwald was wearing a long tunic dyed cobalt and trousers stitched in beige, and all the shimmering candles that quaked and waved blinkingly back at the two like tiny little starts bent on whispering _hello_.

He ignored it all though, because he trusted Berwald had something lovely to say, or at least something of interest to command.

And oh did he.

"I 'ave a present fer' ya." The Swedish Chieftain said simply, wobbling over his words that Tino realized he must have spent many minutes rehearsing over to perfection-only to have them mumbled and garbled when the time came to present them. But Tino loved the voice that accompanied the words none the less. And he was no longer ashamed to admit so.

"A…A present? For me? Berwald, you have already given me too much! A feast, robes, a hand made broach-a pony of my own! Berwald, I beg you, my heart cannot take much more." Tino blushed and tittered over his words that grew more wispy by the second.

Berwalds' face seemed to frown at Tino's words, probably feeling like Tino was not at all pleased with the many gifts the giant had presented to the Finn-which was a lie, Tino loved them very much so, it's just…Once again, he reminds himself, he has come from a farmers background and now, well now he is being treated like a King! It was all happening too fast!

But, seeing that hurt look on Berwalds face Tino immediately cleared his throat and did his best to smile, straightening up on his seat upon the bed that he agitatedly noticed had been perfumed with incense smoke. Oh this man was killing him with kindness alright.

"But, I'm sure this gift of yours will be wonderful and I would be happy to accept it." Tino spoke quickly as if to assure the giant who had been staring at him pleadingly for a while now.

Berwalds face seemed to lighten up against the candles flame, his sully stern face washed over with the relief that Tino had granted him with his change of words.

Then, without a moments hesitation, without a word or a gesture, the Swede, with long strides, walked over to the far corner of the tent where he, with minimal effort scooped up a wicker basket that had been covered by a scrap of cloth.

Tino eyed the parcel curiously with bright eyes as the Swede set the surprisingly light present on his lap.

But what really set the Finn's eyes to widening and his throat to go dry was that from within the confines of the basket, underneath the neat little cloth-the parcel was _moving_.

The first thing to grace Tino's mind alarmingly was that perhaps Berwald had sent a voyage to Africa to bring back a lions cub-or, or to go on a journey to retrieve a dragons egg, a changing child-the severed and still twitching head of Ivan the Terrible all bloody and gory…

Tino fought hard to keep his pulse rate in tact as he smiled nervously up at Berwald, his teeth clenched.

"What…._What is it_?" His throat cracked brutally.

"Open it." Was all Berwald said as he sat himself down next to Tino on the bed, his hands in a neat little heap on his lap. Tino swallowed thickly in his throat and nodded more to himself than to Berwald, trying to reassure himself of the contents in the basket.

"Oh…okay." Tino softly spoke, his eyes still saucer wide and scared, Berwalds silently cryptic face not helping in the slightest to calm his nerves.

With fingers that twitched far to much and with teeth clenched fiercely, Tino tugged at the stitched cloth with his hands before it fell to the floor to reveal a white ball of fluff that trembled and hummed in the candle light of the tent.

Cotton? Berwald got Tino cotton? What was he supposed to do with a basket full of cotton-he didn't even know how to weave let alone- Tino was about to rant aloud in his head until his heated stream of thought was cut off abruptly by a low croon and yip and all of the sudden the ball of cotton leapt up and attacked Tino with it's fluffy face of white and black eyes and-wait. Cotton does not have eyes.

In between minstrels of Tino suddenly laughing as the little ball of fluff showed itself to have a tongue which was now lapping up at his face, Tino could hear Berwald chuckling and humming, laughing as Tino was back first on the bed giggling himself.

"Do ya' like her?" Berwald suddenly spoke with a warming voice as Tino plucked the little-not cotton-but dog from this morning from his face with a grin.

"Oh Berwald, she's so cute! How did you find her again! I thought she would be lost to me forever!"

"Nah, she's a stray, remember? Found 'er near the sheep pen barkin' up a storm." Berwald smiled once more, patting the little dog on the head, the small vibrant fluff ball bouncing up and down as if she was made out of excitement itself.

"Oh she is just simply darling! And I can have her? We can keep her?" Tino asked with bated breath, his eyes glowing with more simple happiness than Berwald had ever seen in the violet eyes of the Finn. How could he ever think to say 'no' to such a face?

"Course ya' can keep her. Thought she could be a family dog-Peter's been whining to 'ave a pup a' his own anyhow." Berwald mumbled as he and Tino both began to bet the puppy along her fleece white coat.

Tino's lips curved into a smile as he looked back up to Berwald, noticing the pure and humble joy in the Swede's eyes. They were finally acting as a family, as two people who could act kindly to each other, who could live in the moment carefree and in enjoyment of each others company. It was that thought that led Tino to close his eyes briefly with a hum only to reopen them with stars and gentleness in his eyes.

"I think that is a wonderful idea, Berwald. A little dog such as this would be great to keep Peter entertained through his sickness-and Peter already seems to be showing signs of improvement so I don't see why not he should not be able to spend some time with little Hana!" Tino whispered happily.

"Hana?" Berwald questioned with a quirk of his eyebrows, his fingers stilling themselves sin the dogs white curly fur as she whined for more attention to be paid to her.

"Oh…Umm…" Tino looked up sheepishly at the Swede, his nervous smile back in place.

"It's just, when I first met her-well, was sabotaged by her-I kind of had a name in mind for her." Tino mumbled under his breath with hushed words, hoping Berwald wouldn't mind. The Swedish leader had been so kind before-perhaps he wouldn't mind the name?

"Hana." Berwald tried it on his tongue, his head titling to the side as he gazed at the small six pound dog who was beginning to wriggle in his lap.

"Well, Hana is the shortened version. Here real name is 'Hana-Tamago'." Tino added helpfully, his pearly white teeth smiling at Berwald.

Berwald sighed with a small smile. "N' what does ''Ana-Tamago' mean, perchance?" The giant questioned, not really recognizing the language of the name as Swedish or Finnish.

Now it was Tino's turn to look a bit skeptical, his gaze turning into that of sheepish shyness.

"Well, you see, the name itself comes from Asia-um, a country named Japan. It means 'Flower-Egg'." Tino tried to explain

Berwalds' face fell immediately as he raised his eyebrows up in more than mild confusion.

"Don't look at me like that! Nikolas was the one that taught me about other lands! He found a couple of maps of Asia and other places-he's the one that taught me the name itself!" Tino huffed out with faux bitterness, causing Berwald to chuckle and nod his head in understanding, not wanting to actually anger his cute wife.

"Fine, fine. 'Aa-Tamago it is." He concluded in agreement as he rubbed the dog behind her ear, earning a little yip and croon from the puppy who was beginning to calm herself and settle down among the cushions of hay and deer pelts that graced the bed.

Tino, happy that he got his wish of the dogs name, laid back down on the bed, his knees pressed against the edge of it, feet dangling as they barely touched the floor from the height of the massive cradle like nest.

The dog, who had since the dwindling end of her masters conversation calmed down, decided she too was ready to hunker down, her little stubby feet walking around in a tight circle four times before she deemed the little patch of straw to the end of the bed as a sufficient place for her to make her bed and rest.

"Well, I guess it's time for bed." Tino joked as he sat up wearily and looked to the little black nosed dog whose eyes were now sweetly shut.

"Hmmm…" Berwald hummed in agreement as he stood up from his place on the bed to walk softly and quietly along the tent, blowing each and ever candle out in his place save for the ones that were tightly and clumsily packed on the small little bedside stool-leaving the tent in a lovely whispering low, the stars and moon shining through the creaks and sky opening from a top the tent.

It didn't take long for the two to wearily sink under the covers of the big bed. Tino was first, his body shaking and humming in place as he would repeatedly curl his toes together before shaking his feet under the many layers of blankets, before curling his toes back again. It was a nervous little dance he was putting on and it didn't take Berwald a twice glance to understand why.

Of course Tino was a bit worried about another night spent with Berwald-the giant would be too if he were in the Finn's situation. But, the Finn had nothing to worry about, as Berwald, making a sound pact with himself, would not push Tino unless the Finn was content to push against the boundary lines himself. Berwald only hoped that what Tino said before he left the bonfire was true-for Berwald would be more than happy to hold Tino in his arms to keep him snug and warm.

Berwald, after quieting his thoughts, cautiously lifted the covers partially away as he sunk deep into the warmth that had already begun to accumulate from Tinos' nervously spazzing body.

_Hush, hush Tino, there is no need to be afraid. _Berwald want to cry to the Finn, to reassure him that Berwald was no beast and, though he loved the Finnish man greatly, he would not be slave to his less…admirable feelings.

Oh, but if only Berwald could read Tinos' thoughts, to understand that the little violet eyed man had almost the same cravings as Berwald did. For he himself, not matter how much he presented himself as an innocent and soft looking thing, had fire in his heart and ferocity in his movements.

Because Tino knew that he himself needed to aid Berwald with the locks on his heart, the blonde and pale faces male who had snuggled so deeply under the covers, turned his body to the Swede, the small candlelight in the room still able to help illuminate the jade eyed mans features.

"Berwald…?" The Finn's voice sent a small shiver down the Swede's voice and Berwald felt horrible to have had such a reaction from his name being merely _spoken_ by Tino.

"Aye?" Berwald grumbled back. His voice returning once again to it's awkward state as he sat looking up at the top of the tent, his body as stiff as a board, his arms uncomfortably weighty, his pulse unbearably quick.

"I...I wish to repay you...If I may? For, for all your kindness that you have given to me, when I was acting like such a spoiled child." Tino spoke with a whisper, his body shifting slightly closer to Berwald who strained his own body to quiet itself.

Berwald merely cleared his throat and spoke through what seemed like clenched teeth. "There's no need ta'. Ya' acted like any sane person would. I took ya' away from yer' home. Ya' have nothing to repay me for."

Tino frowned suddenly, wondering if, even if he had come to terms with the new situation, if Berwald had still yet forgiven himself for what he had done to Tino.

Well, Tino would hear nothing more! If he could come to terms with the situation, if he could find the many blessings that had been woven and stitched into his fate-then he was sure so could Berwald.

"Berwald-the pain from leaving home, it no longer aches me. It is now replaces with joy-for I now live with worth and happiness, with people who care for me. I have my cousin back, I have a son, and….I have a husband. I have a family once more-a beautiful one. You should never feel guilty for granting me such gifts, for they are the sweetest blessings that no man nor fate as ever bestowed upon me." Tino hushed to Berwald, his left hand carefully and slowly moving through the warm night air to place itself along the Swede's trembling shoulder.

"I'm glad yer' happy T'no. I'm so glad yer' happy…" Berwlads' voice shook lightly, like the weak and soft flames from the candles surrounding them in their warmth.

Tino smiled and leaned himself closer, closer to Berwald till, leaving the Swede wide eyed in the dim light, he was practically resting his two hands over he Swede's chest for balance as he gazed down at him.

"T'no-" Berwald started to say frantically, when Tino hushed him with a whisper and a glance.

"No. No, Berwald. I wish to thank you, I wish to thank you for all you have done for me-that is the least I can give you." Tino breathed into the smoky and sweet air, before he leaned closer to the Swede and, watching as Berwalds eyes as well closed softly like his own, the Finn of nineteen winters placed a soft if not loving kiss atop the Swede's warmed lips.

It was sweet and it was fragile and when they parted it felt like the bundles of tension the two had been carrying had finally be cast aside and burned with joy. It felt as if they were no longer unleveled, they were no longer walking over hot coals on bare feet and they both knew it.

They were free.

At once Tino felt better, felt more alive, felt love.

Love for Berwald.

With his heart aflutter, and with a fleck of courage ever growing in his heart Tino dipped his head downward again, till, his a small smile this time gracing his lips he kissed Berwald, again, the Swede too, smiling.

On and on they kissed, soft pecks and little shy wisps of lips brushing against lips Berwald arms wrapped loosely around Tino's waist.

Little compliments were spoke next, about how cute Tino looked in the night gown-how he would look even lovelier with wild roses in his hair to which Tino would make Berwald promise to go picking wild roses sometime when they bloomed best, or about how soft Tino's lips were, to which Tino would tease Berwald about his own rough but pleasant feeling ones.

It was light hearted and it was nice, unstrained and pleasant and it felt like it would last inside Tino's heart forever, snuggled tightly and heatedly against his breast.

But after what must have been the sixth kiss the night began to press warningly upon the two lovers, and with the gentle hands of the darkness surrounding them they soon began to succumb into sleep, legs tangled deep within each other, froths of sheepskins coddled to their hips and warm hands pressed together into each others palms, fingers knotted and weary.

Berwald pressed his nose against Tinos neck, the Finn's back facing him as they snuggled more peacefully then they eve had before. Berwald took a few breaths full of the Finn's scent, his bride smelling of lilacs and licorice and snow. It was amazing just how much Berwald found he loved this beautiful man before him-and even more amazing at how the man himself seemed to take a liking to him as well.

So, with more self-assurance then before, Berwald decided to ask Tino a very important question. Berwald himself had promised Tino earlier that he would ask this every night that they were together until the Finn had agreed to it-Berwald was hoping now would be the perfect moment.

Closing his eyes softly, the Swede spoke with such a soft whisper that it matched that of a silent rivers flowing.

"T'no…Will ya' marry me?"

But all Berwald was given in response was a slight snore and a twitch of a nose-for the young _Damen Lejon_, had already fallen fast asleep.

…**.**

**So? SO? They finally kissed! Yay! And things are not as strained! Double yay! Well, I hope you guys liked it and I hope you didn't find it too rushed or anything! Oh, and just as fair warning-you guys are more than likely going to hate me for the next chapter! HAH! REVIEWS ARE WELCOME TO KEEP THE FLESH EATING DOLPHINS AWAY-THEY ARE STILL SWIMMING CIRCLES AROUND ME!**

…

**Authors Notes:**

-"_Hej_!"* **-"Hey!" in Swedish.**

-"_Att vänta vid din ledares tält med hans brud i ett nattlinne i mitten av natten-är_

_inte det bästa sättet att lova lojalitet till din ledare…_"*_**-"**_**Waiting at your leaders tent with his bride in a nightgown in the middle of the night-is not the best way to pledge loyalty to your leader…" Swedish Translation. (Thank you to yotzie!)**


	17. Nightmare of Flame

**Hey guys, Ye' be warned-we got some death and violence going on all up in here! Thank you to my lovely translators, **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen. **Thank you to all who have previously reviewed as well! For this chapter I suggest listening to "**Offerrök**" by "**Fejd**". **I do not own **Axis Powers Hetalia **nor **it's characters-**I do own **this story! So please, enjoy this next chapter! **

…**..**

Pulsing venom rang around his ears, a great swooping sound, swishing and searing - the sound of wings flying fast above him in a shock of brilliant red, gold and orange - the bird above him was on fire.

_It was on_ _fire! _

It cawed madly and rang around the sky thrice as Tino watched, till its claws sank deep within the flesh of two gutted animals, a wolf and a lion who growled and made noises of pain, barely alive, as the bird of prey, with tendrils of smoke - two headed - nipped and bit at them with obsidian beaks.

Their flesh that used to be buckskin tan or charcoal grey drew red with blood as their bellies were sliced open to the bleak sky.

Tino tried to cry out, tried to swat the bird away as the fowl swept into descent, but when his fingers touched the beautiful yet dangerous feathers they came back blistered and red with heat, till, with a painful scream the burns enveloped the Finn and heat was the only sensation that he felt. Dry, crumbling, shaking heat.

Then, he awoke.

His voice was hoarse as he gasped for breath, his eyes wide and wet and wild as he started up into two equally terrified eyes.

Blue tinted jade held Tino's attention commandingly as the Finn, who soon realized was clutching tightly at the bedding of his bed with clenched fingers, swallowed with what little spit he had in his mouth to make room for breath.

"Berwald -" Tino was about to speak, to tell Berwald that he had such a horrible nightmare, that his body felt cramped and hot and that he needed a drink of water and that, oh! Such a dream it was-a prophecy, a foretelling! Oh! Such sickness it brought him!

But the Finn was cut off with a rough voice, a worried click of teeth that sounded all too strained and stretched - it was then that Tino realized that the voice belonged to his husband who looked absolutely terrified.

"Tino, I need ya' ta' calm down - -need ya' ta' get yer' robes on and come outside!" Berwalds' voice scared Tino from his stupor, so serious the Swede's words were. Tino sat up, only vaguely embarrassed at showing his bare chest to the man who just last night he accepted that he loved.

"Berwald, what is going on?" Tino's voice did not crack as he thought it would when he looked into the eyes of the blonde Viking. Yet it was then that Tino noticed that his soon-to-be-husband was already dressed as he knelt over Tino.

Though not just in simple tunic and breeches - oh no, Berwald looked as if he was dressed for war.

And what a war.

Over the Swede's plain indigo dyed tunic was a light plaited armor, twisted and braided of Reindeer hides that shone like brown mud against his pale white face and neck. His hair had been briefly combed, his chin left with a small scruff of blonde - in case he should be captured or killed by the enemy - he could die with dignity, yet short enough so as not to be grabbed and pulled at in battle. His arms were wrapped carefully to keep them strong in case he should pick up the bow, and his belt had all the handlings of war - a small hatchet strung up from a loop, a knife with a handle of elk horn, and a simple helmet of iron under one of his arms.

Berwald, catching Tino's shocked eyes as the Finn scanned over the armed Swede, sighed with bitterness.

He straightened himself up and, with only his eyes to tell Tino how very sorry he was that this had happened, he spoke.

"Tino, th' battle has begun."

…..

At first the words, spoken with grating sadness and urgency, did not register within the already sleep hazy mind of the Finn.

"Are you…Are you to tell me, that now, at this very moment - a battle has already been marked by the clashing of shields and the bellows of horns?" Tino's lips clipped together in a pursing movement. It was everything he had to keep himself from crying, his heart so heavy and sickly as he was, at that moment reminded of the dream he had been woken up to. The Nightmare that had shown itself quickly against his thoughts like a breath of fire and anger. Like a raised two headed phoenix setting fire to the blazing sun.

Berwald didn't answer at first, or, at least, wouldn't answer. Instead he quietly pressed his right hand against Tino's, his palm feeling hot and warm, an indication that Berwald had just previously been committing labor - probably sharpening his long sword or tightening cinches under the war ponies bellies. It was such a warm touch that Tino felt his face relax in anger but gain in sadness.

"T'no, 'm sorry this had ta' happen today. 'M sorry that there was little warnin'. An' 'm so sorry that ya' were dragged into this war…" Berwalds' voice was shallow with grief as he bit his lips in worry.

Tino's fingers began to idly fix the now loosened night gown over his shoulders, his consciousness feeling very out of place as he tried his best to tie the strings back to no longer reveal his pale fleshed chest.

"Berwald, I was not dragged by you, not forced by you to enter this strife. War effects all - it was bound to grace it's ugly presence upon me eventually. There was nothing you could do - the Gods will do as they will, we as mortal men must accept that and make the best out of the lives that have been molded for us." Tino cooed over the man, his voice soft and reassuring, sounding more like a mothers whisper than a lovers fawning.

Berwald unfurled his lip between his teeth, his previously pale lips vigor with color as he brought them to Tino's hand in a soft caressed of touch, as if he was kissing a great statue of marble and gold.

"I will brave arrows a' flame, drums a' war, spears a' bronze, warriors a' rage-if only ta' see ya' unscathed an' still smilin'." Berwald hummed quietly as he kissed Tino's hands once more, making the Finn titter and blush pink, till he place himself in check.

"Why, _Herr Lejon_, you shame me! I am of Finnish blood, therefore I am a fighter at heart - I shall make it to the end of this awful war yes - but my breast will be bloodied, my teeth will be knocked, my eyes will be black and my body sore - I will not sit complacent at the loom, nor shall I be tending to the hearth - I shall fight till I limp! But I shall come out alive. Have faith in your _Damen Lejon_, good Lord. Have faith!" Tino teased as he puffed out his chest, his eyes glowing like embers. The uneasiness was still there, crippling his body in cold sweat, but if Berwald could face an enemy as great as theirs - then so could Tino.

He was a Finn after all.

Berwald simply chuckled with weariness, his own cheeks showing some color as he sat up from his place on the bed to run his hands through his hair out of nervous habit.

"Aye, I expect nothing less from a Finn. Brave and stubborn ya' are."

Tino tried to keep the smile on his face, but his eyes began faltering as soon as he heard several shouts from outside, the rumbling of hooves not too far off from where they were inside the tent.

Hearing the commotion outside, Berwald cursed softly to himself before, with a weary look towards Tino, he excused himself, telling Tino hurriedly that Nikolas would be in shortly to explain the situation. Tino only nodded fretfully as he watched his husband go, the shouts turning into garbled words of praise as soon as Berwald exited the tent. A great commotion and uproar like a wave swallowing Berwald whole.

Tino had a very bad feeling about this.

…

Just as Berwald had promised, Nikolas soon entered the spacious hut to attend to Tino in the best way that he could.

The Finn was just about done with lacing on his goat hide shoes when the Norwegian, slowly and cautiously slithered through the tent - the open flaps letting in a cascade of noise that sounded dreadfully angry and seething.

"What is going on out there, Nikolas?" Tino asked softly as his pale faced cousin, hair a-mess and eyes rimmed black from lack of sleep, set down a breakfast tray for Tino.

"A Slavic spy was caught just outside the reeds of the marshes - they are interrogating him now as we speak." Nikolas spoke softly, quivering his words some.

Tino swallowed thickly as he picked at the over baked bread offered to him, feeling too uneasy to eat.

"A spy? What has he to say? Are the Russians to attack today? Berwald told me the battle has started - why are we not on the move?" Tinos' voice strained as his lips bit out questions that just caused Nikolas to sight out sourly as he made his way round a cedar chest by the bed.

"So far, the prisoner has not been kind in his speech. All he does is curse at us -trying to bite his damned tongue off - he'd rather die than give to us. Yet we do know that he was more than just a spy - a messenger as well." Nikolas' fingers worked with the leather hook of the trunk before it came loose and the box was thrown open to reveal the glint of a silver and bone handle tucked halfway in reindeer hide.

Tino eyed the dagger with wild eyes as his cousin, without a word, latched it against the Finn's hips with a thrust of fingers none to gently.

"This is not the first time a messenger has been caught Tino, this is not the first time we have been threatened. This is not the first time we've had to plan ahead. I'm sorry if you wanted theatrics and war cries-but first we must be absolutely sure that the Russians wish to fight."

Tino growled out stubbornly before he took up the ladle of water on the table and drank thirstily, water dripping down from his chin before he wiped it away with his sleeve.

"Well, I merely assumed the likes of blood and guts strewn across the floors." Tino mumbled between sips as Nikolas soon brought out some light amour not unlike Berwalds, except a bit less worn out.

"You will need to wear this - I know it's uncomfortable in this heat but you need to be protected should an arrow go rouge or we be pushed backward by the fighting." Nikolas hummed with tired breath as he latched and tied with little rose knots the leather ringlets that weighted down Tino and made him sweat all the way to his neck.

Tino frowned, the plates of it stiff and rough like dragon scales and they smelled something awful.

"Are we to go outside, then?" Tino asked with a bit of knots rolling in his stomach at the thought of going outside when they could plainly hear shouts and yelling - the thick sounding jabs of spears sunken into soil in mock fighting as the Vikings began to grow restless at the prospect of war.

"It is still early - the sun ahs only been up for a mere hour. Are you sure you would not like more food my cousin? I cannot assure you when your next meal will be…" Nikolas trailed off as he lovingly pushed a stray piece of hair form Tino's face, wishing to calm himself as well as the Finn. The Gods knew they both needed their wits about them.

Tino sighed softly, looking away from the food that laid silently at the small table, already cold and foul smelling to his nose.

"I fear I lack appetite to keep it down. No, no food for me now." Tino mumbled half heartedly as he pushed the offending wooden plate away and instead felt his hands press against the handle of the dagger in an oddly comforting sense.

"Then perhaps you should lay down, get some sleep. I could brew you some tea, maybe some licorice root -"

"I wish to see my husband." Tino merely said, his voice a soft whisper, barely being able to be heard due to the already heated commotion outside.

Nikolas' usually dulled eyes flashed something worrisome before he sighed with sickened breath.

"Tino, now is not the best time - Berwald is still interrogating the Slavic Spy-Messenger… He is not himself at this moment, please!" Nikolas tried his best to persuade his cousin but Tino saw through it.

The way Nikolas held Tino's forearm, the way his voice was slightly strained, Tino picked up on it and he knew something was wrong. There was something going on outside and Tino wanted to know exactly what.

"I can speak a bit of Russian, I can be of some use. Let me go outside, Nikolas." Tino spoke with tenderness for his cousin as he tried to pry the Norwegians hands from his tunic sleeve.

"Tino, don't, please!" Nikolas pleaded in a quiet voice, knowing it would do no good, before Tino took a bit of breath between his lips and pulled the tent curtains back to feel an explosion of heat from torches lit in the warming early dawn, could hear the bustling noise and clatter of people as they moved around, could spy the group of men right in front of him aways away snarling at something, could smell the unmistakable odor of spilt blood.

Tino licked his lips and sucked in the dusty air before he made his way unfaltering to the cluster of shouting men whose voices he knew carried threats high over the winds. His feet carrying him over to the place of blood, over to the place of fear and domination. Over to the place of the Barbarians.

…

**Short chapter is short, but I think you guys actually like the shorter chapters that update faster, am I right? Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was made with love! REVIEW OR THE DOLPHINS WILL TORTURE ME!**

…

**Authors Notes:**

**Oh. Yeah. For those who don't like, physical torture, mental torture, war, blood, swearing, and or violence.**

**You ain't gonna like the next couple of chapters. BUT I STILL LOVE YOU, OKAY! I LOVE YOU GUYS! **


	18. Let Me Prove My Place

**Hey guys, Ye' be warned-we got some death and violence going on all up in here! Thank you to my lovely translators, **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen. **Thank you to all who have previously reviewed as well! For this chapter I suggest listening to Finnish song "**Tuli Kokko**" by "**Korpiklaani**". **I do not own **Axis Powers Hetalia **nor **it's characters-**I do own **this story! So please, enjoy this next chapter! **

For those of you who do not like blood - ye have been warned!

…**..**

They all moved backwards, their feet brushing against the sun baked earth that was in desperate need of springs rains. The wind was dry in his throat as he walked forward, walked towards the voices of the snarls and shouts, the clanking of metal against wood, against flesh.

They watched him as he passed, they bowed as was customary but Tino could see the worry in their eyes as they observed him. He could feel their muscles flicker and strain as they resisted the urge to pull Tino back, to nudge him into the tents to await orders, to keep him safe from the violent air that was already beginning to smother the Finn.

But Tino was already submerged in the heat of the day, the dawn had come and gone and it was later morning now - the air was thick and hot as it was the night before and it rested against Tino's neck, making him sweat under the amour that was laced neatly over his body.

He walked on.

It didn't take him long to come to end of his trek, the huddled group of men against a clump of pine trees indicated him to his destination.

He was not announced formally as he suspected he would have been, but the silence from behind him of the villagers who had come to inspect what exactly the Finnish Bride would have to say on the matter of a messengers capture, was enough to make known his arrival.

Mathias was the first person he saw to turn his head from a huddled mass of brokenness on the floor - the messenger was lying like a limp doll against the width of a brown stained pine tree.

He looked half dead, as if a wolf had gotten to him later in the night, only Tino knew better than to blame this on a sane creature.

The Dane's hair was a mess, as if he hadn't bother to comb it just yet and his smile was thinly worn, tight along his lips. Dark circles were under his eyes and the snake bite from before had shown up a nice sliver of red on his nose, making him look more sour and bitter than ever. But when he saw Tino, my how his eyes gleamed like pleasant stars.

"Good Morning, Fair maiden. Have you lost your way to the tents?" Mathias chuckled as he, jeeringly bowed before Tino. The Finn ignored the tease in the Dane's voice as he walked foreword untroubled, surprising even himself at how far he had come. Picking a fight so early in the day was not the best way to greet the warm morning sun.

"Good Morning, Leader of the Southern Wolf's Tribe." Tino begged his voice to relax, to become unblemished and smooth - lest the Danish wolf catch a glimpse of fear, the scent of fright.

But before Mathias could lick his lips and make another half-joking mumble, the main object of Tino's affection turned his head to meet the voice that Tino knew he had recognized.

Berwald, with strong legs and back, turned his body to face Tino, his jade eyes wide and unblinking before they grew tense and worrisome.

"Tino, get back ta' the tent, this is no place fer a-" His command died in his throat as Tino shook his head softly, his voice hitching in his throat as he tried to take control of the situation before it was lost to him.

"Your words injure me, dear husband. I have come to help." Tino took a few hesitant steps towards Berwald and immediately regretted it.

He could smell the blood, dried and hot on the Swedes' amour. It stained the leather black and it chipped and flaked when the Swede heaved his chest up and down for breath.

Tino did his best to not gag as the drying metallic liquid seeped into his nose like a four odor.

Berwald's face softened as he realized his mistaken choice in words, his right hand, the clean one, came to rest atop Tino's shoulder.

"I am sorry, I should 'ave said that better. But yoo' are still tired, I can tell from th' way yer' face grows pale. Go get a drink a' water an' then we can get some food in yer' belly…" Berwald made a soft gesture to a few women - some of the last remaining handmaidens in the camp - to take Tino back into his tent to await safely until Berwald could, in confidence know the Finn was safe while an enemy was still in the camp.

But Tino would not go, instead he walked closer to Mathias who wiped his hands on his trousers, his palms coming back a slick brownish red.

"Shouldn't be here, Finny. Don't wanna' have nightmares." Mathias grinned as he watched Tino's eyes dart downward to the heavily breathing man on the ground.

Tino ignored his words in favor of looking over the captured man, at least, if that's what you could call the bloodied and blacken bruised heap before Tino's feet.

His legs hand been tied down to restrict any kicking movements the spy might make - ropes of thistles were plucked and stuffed into his pant legs for added irritation, as they would sting the skin badly if the captured man bothered to move.

His arms too had been tied backward, his forearms hugging the width of the pine tree that smelled like scrapped skin and blood. He struggled during the torture, Tino could tell, as he observed the mans purple bruised wrists.

Tino kept his face blank as he looked back to Mathias, trying his best to wear a mask over his feelings like Nikolas did so very often.

"How long has he been tied here?" Tino asked quietly, no louder than was necessary.

Tino could hear Berwald shift his feet uncomfortably behind Tino, not liking the idea of getting the Finn involved in this matter one bit.

"An' hour or so, why?" Mathias drawled out lazily as he kicked the man with the tip of his boot, the huddled mass letting out a keening groan.

The Danes and Swedes around them snickered at the agonizing noise.

"Because I am guessing he hasn't been talking much? He's been out in this heat, with blood loss and trauma. He's probably half mad." Tino mumbled more to himself than anyone else.

"I'll agree with ya' on th' raving mad part - he only knows bit' a Danish and Swedish - won't say much except curses." Mathias idly chewed his finger nail as he leaned against another tree, his feet idly kicking dust atop the messengers bare feet.

Tino idly noticed that the mans toenails had been ripped clean off, leaving bloodied pink stubs. He did his best not to retch all over himself.

"Fetch me some water then, to give his throat some ease in this hot weather. I should like to talk to him, see if he is useful."

"Water? My, My _Damen Lejon _- you are being too rude, perhaps we should give him some mead and cheese too? A bit a' roasted lamb!" Mathias laughed sarcastically, grinning jarringly down at the Finn who looked not a bit amused.

"Fetch th' water, Mathias."

Tino and Mathias both turned their heads in surprise to see Berwald standing stiff and calculating, his features resorting back to their cold stare towards the Dane. He took one look to Tino before he nodded back to Mathias to emphasize his command.

Mathias curled his lip upward in a snarl before he smacked his hand against a nearby Danish Soldiers shoulder, not even bothering to look at the lad no older than sixteen winters.

"Fetch the little Duck a bucket o' water, be quick or the lion will have you fer' dinner." Mathias grumbled as he sent the wide eyed Danish boy on his way, the poor lad stumbling a good half the way there.

Tino could only stare at the glowering Swede, realizing at that moment that Berwald was giving him rein to prove himself. Tino had to show him, had to show everyone around them at this very moment that he had what it took to be _Damen Lejon_. That he could be an experienced leader accompanied by Berwald. The two must work together to win this war - Tino had to bloody his hands as well, and he new exactly how to do it.

_Time to prove your worth, Tino_. He thought to himself as he bent downward to inspect the nearly dead man in front of him.

…

The first thing Tino did was to drag the mans head up gently to rest against the pine's trunk, his dark brown hair matting his face with blood and sweat, Tino had to hold his breath to not gag as the burned stench of flesh greeted him. The had taken hot pokers of iron to his face.

The man's eyes were still closed, lightly and sleepily - he had passed out, probably when the Danes and Swede's were harvesting his toenails.

Yet he was still a severely strong man to last all the injuries that now scattered his body. He was a Slavic of course, strong and proud. He wouldn't break easily.

Bubbling bruises of dark plum screamed against the paleness of his ribs. Scarlet blood from his ripped right ear curled under his chin to pool against the side of his neck. A yellow-ish bruise made it's home just under his heart where someone had taken a blow to wind him.

"Berwald's good with the punches, ain't he?" Mathias snickered downward, making Tino frown and Berwald's eyes grow scathing angry.

"I'm guessing then, that the toenails was your handy work?" Tino mumbled under his breath with a sigh before he squatted down in front of the wounded man to feel his pulse. His fingers pressed up wetly against the congealed blood under his ear before Tino pulled them back to wipe them on his trousers.

"Aye - the nails, I did! I might wear them as a necklace when were through with this phoenix bastard!" He laughed hotly.

Tino smirked grimly as he tossed his head up to look at Mathias.

"Next time you want to get answers out of a man, don't make him pass out from your own stupidity. You'll get no confessions if he can't speak let alone wake up." Tino spoke smoothly to the Dane whose eyes widened before he grumbled and snapped his toothy mouth shut, small snickers and laughs echoing around the huddle of men that now boxed them inside the small patch of pines.

The wide eyed Danish soldier came back soon after Tino had spoken, and, just as promised, set a dripping cedar bucket of water down near the Finn's feet.

Tino thanked the boy with a nod before lifting up the heavy bucket to his stomach and dumping half of the contents onto the passed out man who awoke with a start, shaking his head widely like a wet dog, only to get dizzy from the movement.

He moaned loudly and gnashed his teeth together, trying to wipe the hair from his face but only succeeding in making it cling closer to his bearded cheeks and chin.

"Good Morning." Tino spoke, his voice trying desperately to sound strong and impending. Old Tino had to go bye bye for a bit, it was time for the _Damen Lejon _to grace his precedence to the encampment.

The messenger seemed a bit surprised to be looking up at Tino and not the big yellow haired brute or the grinning slender Dane. It took him a few seconds before his eyes sternly grew to slits and he snarled, his beautiful glance looking like blue ocean ice right before it knocks itself into the hull of a ship. Tino did not like the look of his eyes.

"You're wasting yer time Tino, the bastard will never talk to ya', he doesn't speak Danish, Swedish, or Finnish-" Mathias was about to stubbornly mumble to Tino before the Finn bent down at eye level with the man and, in a clear crisp voice, began to speak.

"_Меня зовут Tino_"* The Finn spoke slowly, evenly, like he was talking to a mere child and not to a severely pissed off Slavic man drenched in blood.

"_Я вам ничего не скажу_"* Was the only reply as the man spoke through his gritted teeth that Tino observed looked to have been kicked in.

"What did he say?" Berwald's stern voice broke through the shocked silence.

Tino sighed and turned to his husband, Berwald no longer looking mad at Tino, no longer looking angry, but the hurt and the worry, that was still there. Tino had a hard time meeting his eyes.

"He say's he will not tell me anything…" Tino murmured before looking back at the man who had begun to huff and growl, struggling against the binds that held him in place.

"_Пусть Боги вас втянет в Ад_" was the only response from the bound man, his words sounding like a loathing crone of anger. He pressed his back to the pine tree and tried to push his legs into the dirt to heave himself up so he could stand but in an instant Mathias gave him a hard kick to his bruised ribs which resulted in his wailing in pain and collapsing downward.

Tino didn't even blink.

This time the Finn tried asking the messenger who sent him and what his entitled message was. The man simple snarled and spat at Tino before laughing like a damned silly crow, cawing and sputtering.

At the sight of Tino receiving such abuse Berwald stepped forward to wipe the smirk off the mans face before Tino pressed his arms to the giants blood soaked amour, his eyes pleading with Berwald to give him more time. Tino was a big boy, he could handle this.

So reluctantly, Berwald stepped back and, wrapping his hands on his forearms to keep himself from smashing them against the mans head, he stood patiently to the side.

Tino, now assured that Berwald would not do anything to smother Tino's chances at getting information, turned back to the man who had now begun to yap and growl.

"_Собаки! Собаки_!"* The man sang, his throat hoarse and croaking from his lack of water and no doubt from his previous screaming. Tino grimaced at the words that the man was yelling, the messengers eyes pressed towards him, a sick glint in them. He would tell them nothing. As Mathias had already said, he had turned mad.

Tino threw the remaining water on the man, his mouth gurgling slightly as he had a few seconds trouble of breathing before he spit out the water in a spray of foam. He grinned and went back to singing. "_Собаки! Собаки_!" Tino grimaced, about to hit the man upside the mouth before a couple of harsh shouts were heard behind them and the huddle group of onlookers broke apart to make way for six soldiers who were dragging forward three thrashing and screaming men, all wide eyed and crying, no older than Tino himself.

The Finn immediately recognized them as captured spies as they were battered in appearance and caked with dirt. Tino's smiled sadly, his eyes watching as the men were brought before Berwald and Mathias, their faces shoved into the dirt, resulting in hacking and coughing noises.

"Three more spies, hmm?" Mathias purred, his eyes gleaming as he paced back and forth in front of the three men who had now resorted to whimpering.

"We found 'em near the marshes - they came with this one," a Swedish guard explained, jerking a bruised hand towards the madly singing messenger sprawled on the floor who Tino had long given up hope on.

"_Please…" _Tino heard one of them, the littlest one with the lovely tan hair whimper out, his big purple eyes so much like Tino's glassy with tears. And then it hit the Finn. The young boy had spoken in their language!

"Present them." Tino's voice rushed out into the hot air, as he stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow. He turned to the six men who had the captured Slavic's which were being held down on the floor.

"M' lady…" A Swede, Tino presumed, was about to object when a rumbling voice, curious and stoic commanded the Swedish soldier.

"Present 'em." Berwald spoke, causing the three men on the floor to tremble and shut their eyes tight.

The six Danish and Swedish men nodded shakily before they yanked the three men up by their hair, electing painful yelps and cries as they were forced to their knees to stare at Tino with wide and frightened eyes.

"_Šventoji Dievas_…"* The slim brunette one of the three gasped when his eyes raked over the Finn. It was then that Tino recognized the words that the man spoke.

"You are Lithuanian." It was more of a statement than a question, but Tino could see the mans green eyes glimmer with a quick flash, indicating that Tino's assumption had been right even if the man did not answer.

"So what if he's Baltic or Slavic - let's hack 'em to pieces! My fingers are itching for a good quart of blood to be spilled!" Mathias raised his head and cackled, causing the three captured men to shake and whine in their strains, the littlest humming a prayer that Tino recognized slightly.

"You speak our language." Once again Tino saw that flicker of something, knowing, in the brunettes eyes. Tino smiled to himself as he knelt near the one beside the brunette, a blonde with blue-green eyes and a trembling lip.

"Won't you tell me your names?" Tino cooed, his hands coming up to gently pat the blond on the cheek like a mother would to her children. The blonde stared at Tino, confused at the gesture. Tino frowned.

"_Damen Lejon_, I do not think they know our words, our phrases - perhaps it would be best ta' just kill 'em?" A Swede spoke carefully to Tino, not sure that he himself even understood the Finn's knew self assured character. Tino smiled softly to himself.

"Yes, Perhaps you are right, I could be mistaken." Tino flickered his gaze to the brunette once more as the Lithuanian lowered his eyes, his teeth clenched over his bottom lip to keep him from wailing. Behind Tino the bound up Slavic man whined again madly, shaking his body like a flopping fish, spewing insults and scathing abuses.

"_шлюха_! _Шведский шлюха_!"* The Man laughed and jerked his head toward Tino, a gleam in his eyes as he clicked his teeth and licked his lips. Tino curled his lip upward in disgust and anger before his fingers found the handle of his new gleaming dagger.

"This is what happens when you do not cooperate with the Lions and Wolves!" Tino snapped before he gripped the opening of the raving mans shirt and pulled it down to reveal all the scars and bruises, all the poker burns and wounds. He eyed the three horror stricken men before he returned his gaze back to the Slavic who was now struggling, regaining his sanity as he saw the Finn fumble with the sheath of his knife.

"_Вы все собаки! Вы все погибнут от руки могучего феникс - наш лидер -!"* _The Man was about to finish with foaming breath before Tino lifted his fists above his head and brought down the silver edge of the dagger into the mans chest, hitting hard against his collar bone before, with much effort the Finn was able to pull the edge of metal downward into the mans belly carving with a nice clean slit, the mans eyes white and wide as he screamed before blood gurgled from his mouth and he fell silent, his belly hot and sticky with red. He lay limp against the tree before a slithering noise was heard from his throat and blood spilled thickly over his red lips.

Tino sighed and filled his lungs with air before he turned around, wiping the dirty blade on his trousers. He then, with sweat on his skin, turned back to the three horrified men who were quivering and shaking in the dirt.

"Now, Let's try this again." Tino knelt down before the three, his mouth parted and panting as he smiled at them, little bits of blood splattered on his cheeks.

"My name's Tino, what's yours?"

…**.**

**Holy Fuck, Tino. What the Fuck. Oh, I'm pretty sure you guys can guess who the three messengers are - right? I WARNED YOU! I SO WARNED YOU! And it only gests worse from here on out - well, that's not true, you get some really cute and hot moments along the way. So what did you guys think? I hope it wasn't to shocking for you! I love you readers and I am so happy that you are still sticking with me and reading this story, so please review to keep little ol' me from being gnawed on by the Dolphins?**

…

**Authors Notes:**

…

**- "**_**Меня зовут Tino**_**"*- **"My name is Tino." in Russian.

_**-"Я вам ничего не скажу**_**"* -"**I'm not telling you anything" In Russian. Thank you kooliobutterflyhahaha!

**- "**_**Пусть Боги вас втянет в Ад**_**"-"**May the Gods drag you to hell" in Russian. Thank you kooliobutterflyhahaha!

**-"**_**Собаки! Собаки**_**!"* - **"Dogs! Dogs!" in Russian. Thank you kooliobutterflyhahaha!

**-"Šventoji Dievas…"*- **"Holy Dievas…" in Lithuanian. Dievas was a main male Baltic Deity.

**-"**_**шлюха**_**! **_**Шведский шлюха**_**!"* - **"Whore! Swedish Whore!" In Russian.

**-"**_**Вы все собаки! Вы все погибнут от руки могучего феникс - наш лидер -!"* - **__"_You're all dogs! You will all perish by the hands of the mighty phoenix-our leader-!" In Russian. Thank you to Kooliobutterflyhahaha!


	19. The Three Men Who Were Punished

**Well Damn, seems to me like you people like a little blood - can y'all say sadomasochists? Anyway, Here is the next chapter, so I hope you enjoy! A special thanks to my fantastic translators,** MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**! Also, in further chapters I'm going to have a lovely kind reader, **I eat souls for breakfast**, proof-read some of my chapters 3 So you don't have to put up with bad grammar or misspelled words anymore. **I do not own Hetalia but I do own this story! **I recommend listening to the song "**_Njaalkeme_**" by **_Garmarna_**, The song itself is Samic. Shit, listen to the song with it, it really works. **

…

The first one to break was the littlest, so malnourished and fear stricken as he was - he didn't stand a chance as his wrist was almost bent and pulled out of the bone socket, blooming red marks that would soon turn plum colored etched along his skin.

At his first shuttering sob Tino's eyes grew stern, his voice unwavering as he called the Swedish and Danish men off of him, leaving the young thing to huddle in the dirt, cradling his bruised hand. It wasn't broken, and in a few days it would heal, but it didn't make the aching look any less horrible. But, Tino reasoned with himself, it could have been worse. If he had let the connecting tribes get their hands on these three in the private of the marshes, they wouldn't stand a chance. A few lengths of rope and they would be swinging from the nearest ash tree. If anything, Tino was their God of Mercy now.

"Bring him to me." Tino instructed the first two men who were silently in charge of the littlest one. At the Finn's voice they nodded like the good soldiers that they were and carefully and delicately heaved him up, letting the small little fingers of the boy grip tightly against his crumpled and strained wrist.

"Please….Please, don't hurt me…Not again…" He heaved with shaking breath that tingled and shook. Tino felt a great pain in his chest overcome him as he stood before the man - no, the boy who looked so much like him, hurt and defeated. What they lacked in nationality they made up for in pity and hurt. They were still humans, still brothers of the same flesh and blood, still made from the binding forces of the Gods, and yet this is how they chose to treat each other. Like animals.

"I won't have them maim you, but you must answer every last one of our questions, if not, even the three Goddesses of fate cannot mend your life whole." Tino spoke softly, warningly as he looked onto the shaking boy who was crying dirty tears.

"Aye, Aye - truthful tongue I will have!" He mumbled softly, promisingly, anything to keep the mentioning of pain at bay.

Tino nodded quickly to himself, more than happy that the situation did not need to be escalated - too much bloodshed had already passed within the midst of these trees, he'd hate for the foul stench of iron to riddle the air once more.

"Then, pray tell me, who sent you four into our midst?" Tino asked carefully, flickering his eyes over to the other two who were bleeding slightly from the head from the treatment they had just previously received for holding their tongue.

"Who else of course, Ivan….Ivan the Terrible!" The littlest one shook terribly as his lips formed the name, pushing it out his mouth as if it was some vial thing that burned his gums and tongue.

"Alright, but why?" Tino pressed on, glancing at Berwald for a quick second, seeing if the Swede had anything that he personally wanted to add to the interrogation, but he only stood their silently, calculating and observing. Tino was still being tested.

The youngest one could only sniffle into silence as he shut his eyes tight, his blonde lashes melding into his pale stricken face. He really was just a child let loose onto the battle field…

Yet it was the older of the three, the one with the deep rich brunette hair and flickering lily-leaf colored eyes, that spoke, his voce trying it's very best to contain it's quiver - like the twang from a bow, trying not to falter in the eye sight of the hunted deer.

"We were sacrifices." He spat out venomously, his voice barely able to contain it's shaking.

The soldiers all around them seemed puzzled by this statement, their brows drawing downward to their eyes as their gazes quickened to the right and left of them, seeking the wisdom of the tribes chieftains.

"A sacrifice? Is it not too early in the war for the Gods to be granted such an offering?" Mathias spoke out, his voice confused beyond belief as he looked back to the battered men before him, bruised and bloodied. "Why, they're not worth the skins on their backs!" The Dane barked, his fingers clenching round the middle ones short hair and tugging on it upward, causing the green eyed man to howl in pain.

"Stop that!" The brunette shouted, twisting his head to glare at the Dane with hate for hurting his friend. Even the threat of a hundred Danish and Swedish soldiers at his back would not lessen the fire in his eyes, the anger in his gaze.

Mathias grumbled and bit his lips, flinging his clenched fingers away from the other mans scalp in a sulking manner.

"We were not _offerings_, we were sacrifices on a suicide mission… If you could call it a mission at all." The Lithuanian bit out, his teeth cracked in places from where he had been hit in the face before all this madness had reached the Vikings make-shift settlement. Tino instantly took note of the chipped teeth that looked to have been knocked against a slab of wood.

"It was your punishment…" The Finn breathed out, his eyes widening as he blinked sorely down at the three men on bended knee.

The words hit home in each and every one of their eyes, their chin lowering to the floor with sadness and shame.

"Aye, sent here just to provoke you, to let ya' know that the battle is set and the stars are aligned. The Slavic's are waking in the morning for bloodshed." The Lithuanian spat out, his spit flanking against the ground.

"Then, if they are ready to fight…" Mathias trailed off, his voice a little bit too thin for Tino's comfort as the Dane looked to Berwald with eyes that screamed, _what should we do?_

"We fight." Came the cold response, sounding tired beyond all belief.

Mathias ground his teeth together worriedly and nodded, his eyes scanning the three captured men who were still pressed into the dirt.

"Alright men, state your name, kin, and age." Mathias barked at them, his blue eyes spearing into their own wild and glassy gaze.

"R…Raivis, Latvian, sixteen." The first one peeped out, his eyes looking like those of a startled rabbit, even Mathias seemed to pity him as he sent the boy a soft glance.

"Eduard. Estonian. Twenty." The voice was clipped and edgy, as if the man would cry out any second but thought better of it. Tino envied his sense of control.

"Toris. Lithuanian. Twenty-two." Toris didn't even bother looking up at the Dane, choosing to keep his eyes on the floor that was speckled with black colored blood.

"Well Gentleman, not to seem pressed for information - but why is it that you are here - why you four?" Mathias' grin struggled to come back on his face, his hands at his hips in a haughty position, trying for the life of him to lighten the mood.

"Lot's of reasons… It was a punishment." the youngest piped up, his lips trembling. "I was too slow at my work - my hands could only go so fast at sharpening axes and swords…" He spoke quietly, cradling his now ruined wrist. Tino felt a sharp pang hit him square in the gut.

"My craftsmen ship wasn't up to par - too many edges left un-sanded on the knives, loose sinew on the bows, rusted buckles on the cinches…" Eduard sighed, his eyes finally looking back up to Tino as if to say, _I did not deserve this_.

"And what about you soldier?" Tino asked quietly, beckoning for the Lithuanian to share his fill of the conversation even though Tino could see by the look in the mans eyes he rather not.

"I was forced to leave because of Ivan's youngest sister, Natasha, because I had feelings for her. When Ivan tried to have us marry, she broke it off quickly, so I found myself another lover. Ivan banished me because I was no longer loyal to his sister - my sympathies had changed." He seethed out with anger, the small tracks of tears down his face showing hot as they slid down his cheeks.

Tino sighed. He could not be sympathetic, for fear of being looked upon as weak - however he _could_ be merciful.

"So he sent you as a physical message of _come and get us_?" Tino tried to reason, figuring talking to the Lithuanian was the best since he seemed like he knew the most out of all of them as he was at one point close to Ivan the Terrible's sister.

"That's right. Ivan sent us by way of telling you, we are here, we are many, and we will fight till the phoenix's fire consumes you." Toris seemed to try to recall the words, his face twisting into disgust, a grim set line of his lips.

"Honestly, I hope you win this war." He spoke matter of fact, his eyes sadden as if he had seen too much carnage and lost too many friends. It made a soft spot burrow into Tino's heart for these young men.

"Well that's nice to hear and all, but it's going to take a lot more than hope…" Mathias drawled off as he rubbed the underside of his chin with his hands, his fingers still stained flush with dried blood.

"But traitors ah' th' Slavics 'ave potential ta' be friends with th' Danes an' Swedes." Berwald remarked softly, his glaring eyes nearly chocking Raivis into another fit of sobs.

"We'll supply you with information, anything you need - just please, promise us you'll keep us alive, promise us we will see the end of this war." Toris seemed to cry out with his eyes as he spoke, his hand still tied behind his back, body still partly bowed, still in a pathetic stance.

Tino looked into his eyes and nodded curtly once, glance never faltering.

"I am a man of my word. Un-fetter your tongue and speak your say, an enemy of the phoenix is a friend of ours." Tino said, remembering Berwalds words, and how he spoke them with such assurance. Tino wished he had it in him to be that self-assured.

When a few of the soldiers gave Tino a questioning glance, the Finn only smiled softly, his eyes never wavering.

"These three men have been turned out of their makeshift home by the enemies - they are bitter and angry, much as how we are. They hold great information about the Slavic's and we would be foolish to not hear their say." No one, Swede or Dane, would argue with such reasoning.

"When do they wish fer a battle?" Berwald was the next to question, his stern eyes staring down at Toris.

The Lithuanian smiled grimly, shaking his head sadly.

"In a few hours, when the sun shines high above the trees in the marsh, that is when Ivan said he will be ready for you." Toris replied softly, all around him the Swedes and Danes trying their best to be attentive.

"Where?" Mathias barked out, his thumb and fingers flexing over the knob of his axe, his tongue licking his lips.

"At the meadows to the North near the fallen boulders and downed trees." Eduard spoke, his voice papery thin as he added his words into the conversation, seeming to understand that talking and spilling secrets was better than getting his head bashed in.

"Do you know how many strong?" Tino whispered slowly, the sweat patching on the back of his neck prickling his skin.

Eduard seemed to bite his lip in deep thought at that, wriggling his knees into the dirt for a few seconds before he spoke.

"At least a few hundred - most I know on ponies." He supplied helpfully, quietly.

Tino looked back to Berwald who nodded in sharp understanding.

"Right. Mathias, yer' men are better riders than mine - I'll need yer' kin to get saddled up an' ready." The giant Swede looked to Mathias who was flickering his eyes over to the North were the luscious meadows lay.

"Fine. I'll get my men mounted, slap a few bows and spears on your own brutes." He mumbled, before turning back from the three men left huddled on the floor.

"Take then into one of the spare huts - feed 'em and give them water," Then, as an after thought Mathias quipped in, " Interrogate them but don't batter 'em. They're guests, not prisoners." He spoke gruffly to a patch of young Danes who nodded swiftly and helped the downed men to their feet.

Tino knew they would still be bound by hand and foot, but a few gulps of water and some crusts of bread would do their starving stomachs nicely. It wasn't necessarily lavish but it was the best hospitality they could muster at the moment.

After the Three were escorted away into a smaller hut, Tino, ignoring all the other men at his back who were staring at him intensely, turned to Mathias and Berwald.

"Then, my Lords, what I ask, is the verdict?" Tino's voice smoothed over the heated wind.

Both men took a few steady breaths of air before they grimly looked to the North where the shady trees frothed about the winding way to the grassy meadows.

"Off to War it is…" Berwald breathed out with a grim set line of his mouth.

The first of the battle horns blared shrilly against the perfect blue sky.

…

**So, any good so far? WE GUNNA' HAVE A BATTLE Y'ALL! Thank you to the past reviews, they really meant a lot to me! SO PELASE REVIEW! IT KEEPS THE DOLPHINS OFF MY ASS! Fucking Dolphins…**


	20. I Know of Runes

Thanks for tuning in to this new chapter of Barbarians Healer! **A special thanks to my fantastic translators,** MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**! Also, in further chapters I'm going to have a lovely kind reader, **I eat souls for breakfast**, proof-read some of my chapters 3 So you don't have to put up with bad grammar or misspelled words anymore. **I do not own Hetalia but I do own this story! **I recommend listening to the song "**_Utfard_**" by **Månegarm**, The song itself fits really well with the lyrics - well, that is, if you can understand Swedish. Listen to the song on repeat, man. Trust me. **

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The sounds of moment were everywhere. From the rickety clacks of the wagons being drawn over the rough gravel, laden with pots and cauldrons, pans and tables - to the insistent neighing and bawling and barking of every creature that was being bustled on it's way, driven by crooked stick or leather rein.

All the smells, of burning cedar wood into makeshift fire, of iron being smelted and burned and liquefied into red hot metal which would in time intensify to become the shaping of a sword as grand as gold.

The sights though, that was the worst that faced Tino. Little girls and boys that were born in the make-shift Viking settlement were being scooped up in the skirts of their mothers and huddled off into carriage litters pulled by stocky ponies. Boys no older than sixteen buckling the cinch of their ponies saddle on tight till the thing could barely breath because the boys fingers were so shaky and nervous for what little future he had ahead of him. An old man on a cane hobbled by a dismantled shanty, the lumber stripped down to be burned in the fire pits for working metal to patch up any loose stocks on shields or dents in helmets.

They were sordid sights and it just made Tino run faster, push his legs farther, sidestep quicker. They were sights to tuck into the back of his memory as a reminder - they were at war. There are no flags shining - _only muddied rags of yellow and red _- there are no grand sure footed steeds - _only flea bitten sticky Icelandic ponies that had no idea the hell they were about to ride into _- There are no feelings of pride - _only fear and hope clinging on a thread. _

After the first of the horns blew against the sunny morning sky, everyone had stood rigid for a few wondering seconds before their bodes began to work on automatic - men running to small pine planked shacks that housed the metal tipped spears, woman helping to shave the warriors beard some and paint a lone streak of red-dyed bear fat along their eyes and nose, children scurrying with the rest of the civilians because soon the battle would begin and arrows would be let loose in every direction.

It was when the horns began to shrill mercilessly as a warning to the camp to get moving, that Berwald grabbed Tino's shoulder and held him close.

_Get Peter_, he said. _Get 'im washed an' cleaned an' atop his pony an' send 'im with th' others. _Tino rememberd how urgent the Swede's voice was as he relayed instructions to the Finn before, with kinder eyes, he pressed his chapped lips to the top of Tino's head and stayed for a few seconds.

_I love ya'._

It was those words in his mind that sent Tino racing to the medical hut that held Peter within it's confines. It was those words that gave him a sudden spark in his heart that made it beat faster with every thump. Berwald loved him and he loved Berwald. Not even the midst of war could change that.

…

The hut was stuffy and warm, with the entrance flaps stitched up nice and tight with the deer antler hooks, as Tino pushed his ways through.

Incense was burning sweetly in a low set bronze dish in the corner too keep out the stale scent of sickness and the pleasant steam of vegetables stewing in water greeted Tino from the bed.

Perched up on a mound of pillows that shifted slightly, sat Peter, hands cupped around a small wooden bow that was pressed to his lips. To the left of the child, on a low set stool a nurse-maid was practicing her stitching, seemingly oblivious to all the chaos that was erupting like a swarm of bees outside.

She paid Tino no heed as he carefully walked up to the child who had now taken notice of his Mamma's entrance and was smiling carefully, a little nervously.

"Mamma, are you hurt?" Peter suddenly asked, his eyes widening slightly as his face paled somewhat, making his freckles even more visible on his itching skin.

Tino stopped his walking in mid step, looking down hurriedly at his body with worry, before he spot the flecks of blood that were now beginning to dry on his twisted armor, his sleeves still wet from spit and water.

"Ah…No Peter, Mamma was just messy eating the blackberries this morning…" Tino lied right through his teeth, his eyes trying their best to clamor over the deceit. Peter had no need to know that his Mamma' had just slaughtered a raving man outside not but an hour ago - Peter had no need for that mental image to scar his mind, he will have so many others to choose from by the end of this war.

Peter looked a bit dissatisfied with the answer, smelling the fallacy from his place on the bed, but he quickly dropped the subject, seeing the look in Tino's eyes as nothing but pleading.

"Why is it so noisy outside?" Peter asked then, his fingers rolling the now empty bowl in his hands, his lips licking the rest of the broth off his lips. It seemed like a normal question, an honest one, and yet Tino found himself stuck in place, unsure of how to answer. Clearly Berwald must have explained to Peter they were at war - they were living in a warriors settlement far from home for Odins' sake!

Tino bit his tongue quickly before he began to grimace, begging a smile to take command over his features.

"It's just another battle Sweetie, no need to worry, but we do have to get you dressed and cleaned up, okay? Your pony will be outside by the hitching posts, now come along and put your socks on…" Tino spoke with a rush, daring to not look the little child in the eye as he took the bowl from Peter's hands, the little British boy grumbling slightly about how he didn't get to finish his blackberry jam that left his tongue purple and his teeth black.

After the woolen socks were snuggly encasing the child's little feet, Tino went to work on boiling a bit of water in the cooking pit near the entrance of the hut.

With a few awkward sentences from Tino and a lot of help on Peter's part, the Finn kindly and hurriedly asked the sullen hand-maid to help fit and tie the goat skin boots on Peter's feet. She nodded softly, her nimble fingers soon working with fitting the boots on the squirming child's feet and tying the sinew strings together tightly so no matte how much Peter shook those darn shoes would stay put.

After that was done and over with Tino had gotten the left over coals from last night to rekindle and got a bit of steam going from the iron cauldron. The water wasn't terribly hot but it soothed ones hand with it's warmth, so Tino deemed it prepared enough to work with.

Dipping a clean scrap of cloth into the water he squeezed and wrung the fabric within his fists before he dragged it over the British boy's rosy cheeks, still pink with the smallest hint of fever.

As Tino cleaned the child's face of dirt and snot the handmaiden got to busying herself with sticking Peter's stubby little arms into a woolen fox hide shawl, his ears engulfed by grey-brown pelt.

"Aw, but Mamma' it's too hot to wear a shawl!" Peter grumbled as Tino wiped the cloth under his chin to get a pesky stain of sweat.

"That may be so, but at least keep it on until we get to the caves - Pappa want's you to have something warm to wear should the battle last long into the night, and you know how cold caves are?" Tino spoke softly to the child, reasoning him to behave.

After another huff of annoyance Peter complied and stopped making such a fuss with the cloak, he did however take a liking to picking at it and scrunching his face at the musty smell of it.

When the little boys legs were wrapped stiffly in linen strips of cloth to keep his legs balanced and steady on his horse, and a small day-pack had been filled to the brim with herbs that Tino would need overnight for Peter in case the battle did take all night, the three decided it was best to now abandon the hut and make their way with the other civilians.

Holding Peter's hand, Tino pushed his way through the animal skin tarps and outside into the indeed smoky and hot air.

Already a mad array of people, woman and children ran with a crowd of people in a jumbled mass, headed in the direction for what Tino could only guess was the cavern area that flanked the valley on either sides. It would provide great protection from the Salvics and would keep the villagers well hidden - the only down side, the sullen hand-maid told Tino, was that it was somewhat of a long ride away.

So it was no surprise that the young and old, women and children and men who were too injured to fight were making their escape now along the twisted and gnarled path that led to the holes in the earth where Trolls used to dwell before Berwald's great grandparents drove them out. Tino would have to make that same trek if he wished to see the light of day after this battle under the mid-day sun.

In he distance, Tino's eye caught the sight of his shaggy haired Dapple-grey pony, the animal lazily chewing it's bit as it's bridle was being softly held by a young soldier who looked to have just grown his first facial hair, soft and blonde.

In the lads other hand was a stouter, older looking pony of a solid chestnut coat, fizzing hair cropped short by iron shears, a child's saddle on the beasts back.

Tino didn't quiet think Peter was entirely ready to be riding on the back of a horse, his muscles were sore and underused and one wrong bump and his coughing could start up again - but the scratches on his body looked to have gotten no worse and no better, and his fever was it's lowest…Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Squeezing the British chills hand tightly in his own, Tino softly said a thank you to the hand-maid before he sent her on her way, his own feet picking their path to their patiently awaiting ponies when Tino saw the flicker of a familiar face.

Within the midst of a crowd of seated or kneeling Vikings, all garbed in fresh armor and shield, stood Nikolas, his face flushed and heated as he spoke loudly.

Tino stared onward at his cousin, his eyes trying to calculate just what it was he was shouting so feverishly from a distance away, before those cool blue eyes of the Norwegian grazed over Tino in a fixed glance.

The Finn, blinking, felt the Norwegian's eyes beg him to come closer, to see what this was all about, and so, with fidgeting steps, Tino leaded Peter along by the hand away from the safety of the dewy eyed ponies to step among a throng of rough looking men who were an hours ride away from certain destruction.

With tiptoeing step the Finn began to advance on the cluster of men until he saw more familiar faces, some warriors who had helped him on his horse, others who had drank mead with him and listen to his stories, others who had given him a small smile in welcome.

Those smiles were gone now, replaced with determination and what looked to Tino like seething hatred. They hated the Slavics and now was the perfect time to seek revenge by the edge of a sword and the blunt of an axe.

Towards the front where Nikolas is preaching about the oncoming slaughter, Tino spies Mathias and Berwald sitting in makeshift stools, their hands busying themselves on their laps in order to remedy their pre-battle nervousness. Björt, dressed in a fine tunic, was being coddled to the Danes chest like a father would hold his dearest son, the toddler pulling at Mathias' hair and whispering silly things, not knowing what awaited his adoptive father in the coming day.

Tino soon caught the eyes of Berwald next, the Swede silently conveying to the Finn to approach the front and stand next to him. Tino, feeling a nervous knot form in his gut at having to be near the center of attention again, reluctantly led a buzzing Peter around to the seated Chieftains, his disturbance of Nikolas's speech only slightly noticed by the enthralled crowd.

"Our All-Father thirsted for knowledge, thirsted for greatness! For he strung himself by his foot by rope and twine and dangled at the very boughs of Yggdrasil for nine nights - and in those nine he learned the songs, charms, runes and the ability to see what no man could ever hope to!"* Nikolas raised his hands as he spoke, entreating the crowd to a few moments of gruff howls of delight and remembrance.

Tino remembered this story, remembered it well. It was one of his cousins favorites - _The Lord of The Gallows_.*

"With a thirst for greater wisdom, Great-One-Eye approached the Ash Tree and hung himself - an offering of Odin, to Odin. He flailed there, hungry, thirsty, haggard and worn. No one approached with a crust of bread nor a horn of mead - there he hung like a dead man. He hung until he seized the runes that burnt him like fire and he howled as he came tumbling down the bough of the tree -knowledge gained from his offering."*

The eyes of the men before Nikolas' gleamed at the re-telling of their Father-God, one eyed Odin who wished to know all their was to know. Who had two ravens to tell him the on goings of the day, who lost his eye to drink from the well of Mimir -all knowing, who hung for nine nights to gain the charms and runes and songs to make him powerful of mind.* It was terrifying what the God of war would give up, what he would claim to know everything, every battle and strife, every foul doing, every image of helotism. He was watching them all, the Ravens patiently waiting to take flight to tell the All-Father who was slain, who had won the battle, who would die next.

"The Runes I wish to declare today I hope will give you strength, for Odin knew eighteen, and of those eighteen now I call upon four in the midst of battle.

"I call upon the third Rune, to blunt your enemies blade in the heat of war to soften his blow so that you may walk unscathed."* Nikolas hummed into the warming air, his voice sending shivers down Tino's spine.

Nikolas knew magic, Nikolas knew the old charms and ways, Nikolas was strong enough to set these men's hearts and minds at ease admit the slaughter.

Nikolas explains the runes that Odin has learned, and which ones shall be invoked. The

"I call upon the fourth Rune, If anyone shall tether thee by hand and foot, by rope or chain, you shall walk freely away - bound no more."*

"I call upon the fifth Rune, if an arrow speeds to it's mark, you may catch it with your eye and turn it away!"*

"I call upon the eleventh Rune, if you must lead loyal friends into massacre, I shall sing behind your shields so that they will never be touched by enemy blades."* Nikolas spoke fiercely, shaking his fists amongst the remaining villagers, those armed and ready to fight and die - for dying in battle was a great honor, the only way to reach the halls of Valhalla and drink amongst the Hall of the Slain.

"I sing these Runes to you, our greatest warriors! Use them well, let them grace you with strength and wisdom - let your shields clash and your blades strike - May you find your rest in the arms of the Valkyrie!"* And with that Nikolas smiled triumphantly upon the frock of men who all hollered up into the sky with might, ramming their fists into the ground to create the most thunderous of movements.

After the men had all quieted down Berwald and Mathias stood up tall, their shoulders burdened with heavy armor that weighed them down immensely. Berwald made a quick nod to Tino before he began, in rapid Swedish, went over what Tino guessed was the battle plan as the Finn only caught a few words such as 'ponies' and 'meadow' and that was about it. Mathias had long since handed over his newly obtained son to Nikolas and was soon adding his say in Danish, his grin never faltering on his face though Tino knew inside the Dane was tightly wound up like a wolf ready to pounce on the next threatening thing to come his way.

It was a few more minutes before all the other men, who, Tino was surprised to find, were not the only soldiers - as there were many others already making their way on mounted horses to the first lines, decided that they had had enough of speeches and were ready to drive head-way into the Northern front.

Berwald and Mathias, looking towards the sky, deemed it noon by the slop of the sun and decided that the battle was prolonged enough.

Swedes and Danes alike exchanged glances and shoulder squeezes, wishing good luck and to see each other within the shining halls of the Slain where they would feast and fight to their hearts content.

Tino and Nikolas too were kissed softly, sweetly, by their men who were about to go off into war - each man ruffling the wild hair of his son before he slung his feet over the saddle of his pony, a solemn gruff noise before the beast was spurred on to the front of the lines, on the way to the journey, leaving Tino and his cousin and their children to make the winding path to the caves where they could only pray their husbands would come back to them alive and well.

_Odin, I pray, protect them. _

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**Oh. Well. Longer than normal, would you look at that? Anyway - LOTS OF NOTES! AND PLEASE REVIEW! It really makes my day and it makes updates faster! Oh I'm exhausted…**

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**Authors Notes: **

-"Our All-Father thirsted for knowledge, thirsted for greatness! For he strung himself by his foot by rope and twine and dangled at the very boughs of Yggdrasil for nine nights - and in those nine he learned the songs, charms, runes and the ability to see what no man could ever hope to!"* **- Odin hung himself from the Tree of Life, Yggdrasil, for nine night to gain the knowledge of the Runes that no man has ever learned. Runes were an alphabetical system with meanings of divination as well as letters. He brought the runes into the world to be used for knowledge and divination. **

-Tino remembered this story, remembered it well. It was one of his cousins favorites - _The Lord of The Gallows_.***- "Lord of the Gallows" the fourth of the Nordic Myths.**

-Who had two ravens to tell him the on goings of the day, who lost his eye to drink from the well of Mimir -all knowing, who hung for nine nights to gain the charms and runes and songs to make him powerful of mind.* **- Odin had two ravens, Huginn and Munnin who flew around the world each day to bring news to Odin. Odin gave his eye as the price to take one sip from the spring of knowledge. **

-"I call upon the third Rune, to blunt your enemies blade in the heat of war to soften his blow so that you may walk unscathed."*** - The real translation: "I know a third: if I should sorely need help to hold back my enemy, I can blunt my opponents blade and soften his staff so that he cannot wound me." - **_**The Norse Myths, Kevin, **_**Crossley Holland. **

-"I call upon the fourth Rune, If anyone shall tether thee by hand and foot, by rope or chain, you shall walk freely away - bound no more."* **- The real translation: "I know a fourth: if anyone should bind me hand and foot, this charm is so great that the locks spring apart, releasing my limbs; I can walk free." - **_**The Norse Myths, Kevin, **_**Crossley Holland. **

-"I call upon the fifth Rune, if an arrow speeds to it's mark, you may catch it with your eye and turn it away!"* **- The real translation: "I know a fifth: if I should see a well aimed arrow speeding to it's mark, I can catch it however fast it flies; I have only to fix it with my eye." - **_**The Norse Myths, Kevin, **_**Crossley Holland. **

-"I call upon the eleventh Rune, if you must lead loyal friends into massacre, I shall sing behind your shields so that they will never be touched by enemy blades."* **- The real translation: "I know an eleventh: if I have to lead loyal, long-loved friends into a fight, I can sing behind my shield and they will go from strength to strength - unscathed to the battle, unscathed after battle, unscathed they return home." **_**The Norse Myths, Kevin, **_**Crossley Holland. **

-"I sing these Runes to you, our greatest warriors! Use them well, let them grace you with strength and wisdom - let your shields clash and your blades strike - May you find your rest in the arms of the Valkyrie!"* **- The "Valkyrie" Were mythical women who, atop wild horses, would ride into battle after a warrior was slain and take him up to the Hall of Valhalla where the warrior would feast and fight all day to his content. **


	21. Horses are a Terrible Thing

**TODAY - WE FIGHT! I'd like to thank my super-duper-awesome translators for all their help and support so far! Thank you **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**! **I do not own Hetalia but I do own this story! A big heaping thank you also to I eat souls for breakfast, who had kindly started to correct my chapters!

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**Now, this is very important, are you listening? Good! I want you to listen to the song **Odna** by **Arkona** for this chapter. Do it. Fucking do it. On repeat. I worked hard to center it to this song and you are gonna' damn well listen to it. I love you, readers!**

**Now…**

**ONWARD TO BATTLE!**

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The new meadow grass was trampled heavily by the stocky hooves of the Icelandic ponies as they waited, their heads tossing fretfully as small little muzzles chomped agitatedly at their iron bits. Sweat and foam were already forming along their withers and haunches and Berwald feared that they would become too startled to focus along the outskirts of the battle and become of no use to his army.

But his thoughts were soon lost to him when the first of the alarms, made from hollow goat horns, rang shrill in the air, causing the horses behind Berwald and Mathias to perk up their ears, their feet dancing to and fro with skittishness. The feeling of quiet madness seeped against their bones. The Slavic's were the first to make the battle call, the Scandinavians would soon great them with blood.

It was all the Swede could do to look at Mathias, a tight set press of his lips, the gnashing of his teeth before that last bellow of the horn sounded and the two leaders, heads raised upward towards the sky, heard the sounds of linen flags and wolf hides shifting along the poles carried by cavalry men.

"_Svärd upp!_"* Berwald's voice growled into the wind that blew against his face like the fluttering of a ravens wings - the sign of death and destruction, of corpses littering the floor trampled by friend and foe. The Ravens were upon them now, waiting for the slaughter - One-Eyed-Odin was watching.

At the sound of his gruff voice, the men crowded behind him and Mathias raised up their swords, the others tilting their heads up and doing the same, iron forged, sharpened by wet stone, their weapons gleamed double edged in the sun that raised sweat and salt from their skin.

Then came the words that Mathias and Berwald had recited, had perfected since they first learned to read and write the runes, to command amber chess-pieces and wave birch saplings like swords.

"_Må gudarnas mod och styrka fylla våra hjärtan! Må Oden och Alaisiagae's fruktansvärda styrka slåss tillsammans med oss ! Som män vi står, som lejon vi kämpar_!"* Berwalds voice was devoid of fear, of the sickness of past wounds itching against his skin, reminding him how much war hurts, how many lives must be lost to gain even a little ground. Berwald ignored it and kept a hard lock on his jaw. He couldn't let his men see his fear.

"_Vi kæmper sammen med vores brødre! Lad os knuse vores fjender med ulvens mægtige kæber, med Skolls magpie_!"* Mathias' voice seemed just as tired as Berwalds, just as gruff and stern. There would be no false hope in their eyes. Their men were sharp, they could smell lies just by the gaze of their chieftains. If either the Swede or Dane looked worried, they did not show it, for fear of having even just one of their men cut down by worriment and doubt.

The horses were beginning to side step their feet now, tearing at the reins that held their heads uncomfortably low. The ponies heads must be near the floor till it was time to charge, Berwald knew they would spook and flee too easily if they saw what was ahead of them.

Only too soon was it to take in a shallow breath of hot air through teeth, raise right hand high, and swiftly bring it down.

"_Angrib!_"*

The battle, had begun.

It was a rush of wind, of the heat of fire and the madness of men and beast groaning and wailing. The pounding of hooves in sync like the most articulate of warriors, like the pounding of never endless drums.

The men screamed, their horses jolted forward in front of Mathias and Berwald, their own horses bucking within the confines of their tighten reins.

_Steady, steady_. Berwald cooed to his mare, the black manned pony snorting foam and air, her coal black eyes staring out longingly to the battle just like her master whose own fingers were itching at the hilt of his sword.

Yet Berwald could only watch first, a little ways away as his men ran outward like a venomous ocean wave bent on destruction, their horses underneath them galloping at breakneck speed before the Russians.

No, Berwald would have to wait before entering the slaughter, he still had much to do, to command, to strategize - and it was only fitting that the battle began unfolding to show interesting, to command surprising.

Berwald remembered with a tightening of his hands on the hilt of his razor sharp sword how Mathias and he had learned of the calculations for today's slaughter. It had tickled his ears to no end and planted the seed of doubt in his mind - but he would not let that seed bloom into the sharpness of a roses thorn. He would stamp out doubt, just like how his men's horses were soon to be stomping and smashing the skulls of their enemies…

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_They had come around the meadows bend through the swamp just a little after noon, the sun doing it's damage on their brows, making sweat drip profusely down their chins and noses._

_The horses were restless under their feet, the flag bearers standing tall and fearless from their mounts or their places in front of the throng of beasts. _

_Each spear man stood with a glint of fear in his eyes before it was quickly wiped away with braver thoughts, thoughts of hearth and home and wife and child. _

_The swordsmen too, were fidgeting from their place in the tall thistle grass, their hands on their hilts, eyes scanning above them, not being able to see past their comrades atop the long manned ponies that whined and stamped. _

_The archers were there, bow relaxed in hand, quiver stuffed full with iron tipped arrows that soon, with the command, would be let loose into the perfect blue sky and sink into Slavic flesh only to be plucked out and reused again and again in an endless viscous cycle. _

_The horizon swirled before them, glazed along the low set and blurry figures of the enemy before them. Along the meadow they caught glimpses of long legged animals, their hides shimmering chestnut, dappled and black. Long legs that boasted speed and agility - everything that their tough and slightly wild ponies were not._

_Everyone knew the Swedes and Danes were sailors - too bad for them the Slavic's were best as riders, and this battle would be fought on land. _

_It was that fleck of information that Berwald began to register that left the hair sticking up at the back of his neck._

_He only had about seventy riders strong with Mathias' kin combined - and every beast helped in the war effort, however, he needed calm horses, not ones that would shy easily at the sound of a war cry. And the Slavics had bred fine animals, large and nimble -it would take a lot more than one arrow to bring one of those beasts to a crashing halt, and Berwald knew it._

_Mathias, who was silently atop his own pony, a rusty colored roan who he affectionately named Flamme Mund, assured Berwald that the horses would be fine.* They were the finest breed of Icelandic and they would be brave enough to make even the best of the Russian cavalry run home from fright. Those words calmed Berwald down some, however, not for long._

_It was when the Dane's scout had come back ridding heavily from the west of the battle front, that the first seeds of doubt became firmly engrained in Berwald's mind._

_The Dane brought breathless news that the Russians were indeed here, three hundred strong against their two hundred and seventy five. They were mounted on what the scout could only described as "Giant Beasts the likes he'd never seen," - that and gleaming helmets and amour that shone gold in the sun. The outcome of the battle was looking grimmer and grimmer by the second. But it was the next tidbit of peculiar news that left the two Scandinavian leaders puzzled atop their heaving mounts. _

_Ivan the Terrible was not leading the battle this afternoon, instead, his littlest sister, Natasha Braginski, was to ride against the Tribes force first, leaving Ivan to stay put and back. It was a battle strategy that Berwald and Mathias had never seen the likes of, and they were, to say the least, a bit worried to test their strengths upon an opponent that they had never fought before. Natasha was notorious for surprises, and Berwald could definitely say that in battle, he hated being surprised. _

_But the sun was already high in the sky and the warriors were growing restless, clanking their spears against the ground and twitching their fingers over the handles of their axes. _

_It was time for the battle to commence. _

_Atop their horses Berwald and Mathias commanded allegiance, their mounts tossing their heads in the air that sweltered thick with heat and the smell of horses and sweat and dry dust that caught in their mouths. Their eyes searching, ears waiting for the call, the horn, the drums, the yells - they waited for any sound, a sound of surrender or a sound of calling doom._

_What they received, was the latter, in a pitch curdling howl of a horn that resembled faintly like a wolf._

_The battle moved onward._

….

Berwald clenched his teeth, the memory fresh in his brain, his mind calculating all the numbers, the scenarios in his head.

The Slavic's, headed by Natasha, were coming at them full force now, their own horses screaming with might as they thundered across the meadow - they would meet Berwald's forces soon, clash in an upheaval of hacking and slicing, chopping and slaying.

Shifting in his saddle of wood, hide and leather, Berwald looked over to Mathias, the Dane's eyes venomous and bloodthirsty as he watched onward with peaked interest - Berwald could practically see the gleam in the other mans eye. If Mathias was sure of the outcome, then Berwald began to have little to worry about - if there was one thing the leader of the southern wolf's tribe knew, it was how to win a battle - bloody and fierce, like that of a wolf.

Berwald turned his gaze back to the battle, the second bought of horsemen at his back - he could hear the muttered prayers, for a place at the mead hall of Valhalla, to see their families again, to kiss their sweetheart one more time. It made Berwald's heart clench as he tried so desperately to not think of Peter or Tino - doing that would just distract him more, letting his men fall to the ground clipped with sword because of his wandering thoughts.

But it was the sudden and very real clench at his heart that sent his head whirling to the right, to fix his gaze on Mathias' who looked pained and troubled, his eyes glass - worry staining his features. His fingers tightened around the armor at Berwald's chest.

"They aren't dismounting." He breathed, his voice sounding sour and fearful, as if he was a few seconds away from having hot coals poured over his head.

"_Wh't?_" Berwald hissed, his jade green eye narrowing at the Danes own scared ones. He had never seen Mathias so terrified, it caused a cold sickness to grip tight of Berwald, feeling something very wrong was happening on the battlefield.

With another jerk of a clenched fist, Mathias had wrung his fingers against the cords of reindeer leather, causing the Swede's gaze to leave his friend and meet with a sight that nearly drained all the color from his face.

His men had done fine, had done exactly what was expected of them.

After riding their ponies fast and hard to the middle of the meadow, they quickly swung their legs off and over the horse to find purchase on the ground to better swing a sword or heave and axe nice and high to cleave through bone. Once dismounted and free of the troubles of riding, with a slap of a hand or the movement of a clicking tongue, the Icelandic horses were sent neighing back for the next man to grab a hold of their bridle, pity the horse for having to go back into battle, and mount and ride off to join their comrades.

It was a war practice that had aided them for years against Ivan's army - both committed to it like it was an unspoken truth of battle. You did not swing your sword from the height of a horse - you would often miss, end up nicking your own animal, and find yourself dead in a matter of minutes, useless entirely.

But, sure enough, as if Berwald could even question Mathias' often lying tongue, their were his men, sputtering, confused, hunched and poised like a snake coiled and ready to strike, because, before them, were the charging monstrous horses of the Slavics.

Whatever breed they were, they were more terrifying the closer they got. With slender heads and strong looking bodies, they looked fully capable to carry a cart loaded with ten men and not break a sweat. They snorted and screamed, the men atop them looking to have no intention to stop and dismount like they always had before.

And they were headed straight for the first line of his men who were no better than bawling babies on the battle field.

They were going to get slaughtered.

"_What are they doing?_"The Dane's strained voice immediately broke off Berwald's own spinning train of thought, his hands subconsciously tightening themselves on the reins of his mare, making her shift uncomfortably.

"They're chargin'." Berwald growled through stiff lips, his eyes twitching silently as he watched the first of his men go down, one trampled by the hooves of the giant beast that could scarcely be called a horse, the other one decapitated with the swift edge of a blade, nice and quick. Berwald was betting the rest of his men wouldn't be so lucky.

They were trapped, too far into the meadow to run away, too unequipped to fight unscathed. They were dead already - twenty of their men gone, in the blink of an eye.

Berwald sneered.

"But why are they not dismounting?"* Mathias suddenly screamed out, causing his horse to shake underneath him, nearly spooked. The Wolves leader crooked his slender finger to the butchered sight before them, a few of their men were howling in pain - they could hear them faintly, the others were gone, lost into the tall stalks of the grass, crumpled and gone from this earth. Berwald's fingers tightened once again on the reins.

The Slavic's should have dismounted to fight, unburdened with a slow bulky horse and limited swinging distance to strike at their opponent. No man should be able to fight on horse back with so much armor and laden with sword and spear - it went against all the teachings Berwald had learned in military training when he was young. You ride out, dismount, send the pony back and fight. That was it, simple, sweet. The Slavic's, apparently had other ideas.

Then it hit Berwald like a ton of boulders topping over his head.

For the past battles on land, the Slavic's had ridden against them on Icelandic ponies that Berwald had no doubt they traded for in the East. It was predictable, second nature to Berwald, send out you're ponies to fight - but now the rules had been changed.

Berwald knew that Natasha Braginski was smitten with surprises, and what a surprise this was.

Her soldiers didn't need to dismount. They were perched nice and cozy on big beasts who could carry armor, sword and man without any difficulty while their own Icelandic ponies could not. Ivan had gotten the Swedes and Danes used to their own style of combat, and now it was switched upon them. They were playing a game that they were entirely unfamiliar with - and they were losing.

"I've never seen any warfare like this! This is unconventional! They should have dismounted!" Mathias shouted out with real fear as he watched the last of their men being slaughter - a spear to the gut and he was dragged a ways away by the point before his body lid off into the dust.

Berwald ground his teeth together, the sight making his blood boil.

"Our men don't know how ta' ride n' kill with ease..." His voice trailed off, tight and curt.

Mathias snarled - Berwald didn't need to look to know the Dane's lip was curled over his teeth in a menacing glare. He was just as angry, just as betrayed by this turn of events that could very well cost them the war.

The small band of Slavic horses had gone no further to Scandinavian lines after the last of the Nordic men were slain. The men merely sat in their saddles, watching from a long ways away - no doubt mocking the Swedes and Danes, urging them to turn back before they were released like rabid hounds upon them. It made the hair on the back of Berwald's neck stand up. The Bastards.

"What should we do?" Mathias suddenly asked, a calm false tone taking over his voice. No doubt he was thinking of the prospect of him coming back to the settlement on the back of his shield, his heart ceasing to beat, the tears of Nikolas' face, the crying of his orphaned child. Mathias' jaw clenched.

Berwald sighed, feeling the same thoughts weigh heavy on his mind and heart. "Send in th' few archers we 'ave... tell 'em ta' await m' signal - then fire upon the Slavic's..." Berwald breathed out with anger, wiping his brow of the sweat that clung to his skin. They rarely used the bow and arrow as a method, and had very little ammunition - but it was now time to give Natasha a taste of her own medicine. This battle had to move on - the malicious teasing was over, it was time to show the enemy that they weren't as easily deterred. It was time to enter the battle himself, with the fury of a lions roar and the brandishing of a sword.

"Aye. I'll tell them to await your orders." Mathias nodded dutifully, now that a real plan was taking root, he could distract himself from evil and sorrow filled thoughts - he could do what he did best. Kill.

Berwald felt his eyes soften then, his gaze daring itself to not look at Mathias for his next words.

"Then I want ya' ta' ride as fast as ya' can as an escort to find T'no n' Nikolas an' th' rest of th' clans. Make sure they're okay, well hidden in th' caves." He murmured painfully, drawing his sword from it's sheath, pausing a moment to look at it's gleam. He had named his weapon when he was just a lad - _Sætarspillir_ - Truce Spiller - the name fit well now, Berwald realized with a grim thought.*

Mathias looked to his comrade, his friend, his new kin, and felt a wave of guilt hit him as he looked to the mans sword. Yet, without another word, Mathias took the command to heart, not caring if Berwald had ordered him when they were still equals. Now was not the time for Mathias to get smart and run his mouth about his wounded pride.

"Aye. I leave my men in your command while I am gone" Was all he said, serious for once, as he pulled on the reins of his roan, making the animal back up before he spun him around, and clicked him tongue, the horse picking up his feet in a flurry of dust as his master sought out the back of the willows for a few men to join him in his journey to the caves. He left the Swedish Chieftain to face a whole army of warriors on horseback, his thoughts not on the blood of his hands or the destruction he was about to face - but on the sweet faces of the ones he held dear - who he may never see again.

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**I'm a jerk - I'll admit it. DID YA' LISTEN TO THE SONG, HUH, PUNK? DID YA"? I swear, Masha Scream reminds me so much of Natasha! The Dolphins will get me if you didn't listen to it, punk. REVIEW PLEASE!**

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**Author Notes:**

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-"_Svärd upp!_"* **- "Swords Up" Swedish Translation. Thank you Swedish Translators! **

-"_Må gudarnas mod och styrka fylla våra hjärtan! Må Oden och Alaisiagae's fruktansvärda styrka slåss tillsammans med oss ! Som män vi står, som lejon vi kämpar_!"* **Swedish Translation. "May the Gods courage and strength fill our hearts! May Odin and Alaisiagae's terrible strength fight alongside us! As men we stand, as Lions we fight!" Thank you my lovely Swedish translators! **

- "_Vi kæmper sammen med vores brødre! Lad os knuse vores fjender med ulvens mægtige kæber, med Skolls magpie_!"* **Danish Translation. "We fight alongside our brother's! Let us crush our enemies with the mighty jaws of the wolf, of the mighty wickedness of Skoll." Thank you to Lillens**!

-"_Angrib!_"* **- "Attack" Thank you Lillens!**

-_Mathias, who was silently atop his own pony, a rusty colored roan who he affectionately named Flamme Mund, assured Berwald that the horses would be fine.* _**"Flamme Mund" Danish, meaning "Flame the Mouth" Thank you Lillens!**

-"But why are they not dismounting?"* **- Vikings rarely went into battle on horses, and when they did, they would ride them to greet the enemy, kick the horse back, and go on their merry killing way dismounted. However, I made Ivan and his sisters have grander horses, as the Slavics were able to trade with the East and South to get such animals as Arabians and other Middle Eastern Breeds that the Scandinavians just didn't have access to, only being able to have Icelandic, Finnish Drafts, and Norwegian Fjords. **

-. He had named his weapon when he was just a lad - _Sætarspillir_ - Truce Spiller - the name fit well now, Berwald realized with a grim thought.* **-There is evidence, in Rune carvings and texts that suggest that Vikings named their swords, often terrifying things to scare off an opponent before he offered to fight. Berwald's sword name means "Truce-Spiller" or "Peace-Breaker" and comes from the **_**Sturlunga Saga**_** I, p. 453. **


	22. Into the Caves We Went

**Welcome one and all, to the grizzly battle front we have on display for you! Tread carefully if you squirm from blood or chunks of flesh - nah, I'm just pulling your leg. Or am I? Anyhow - I'd like to thank my wonderful translators who have stolen my poor little old heart! Thank you to **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**! And I owe an apology to** I eat souls for breakfast **because I am a complete idiot, and I openly thank her for her patience with me!** I do not own Hetalia nor it's characters, but I do own this story. **This chapters song is **Slavisa, Rus **by** Arkona.

**LET THE BLOODSHED BE UPON THE LAND IN DROVES!**

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The bows quivered against inexperienced hands. Men as young as sixteen, some even pushing at their graves at fifty years old began twining their fingers in the sinew of their bows, arrows pulled tight and taunt against willow.

The stench that wracked against their noses was painful and it made their eyes water, skin becoming yellowed with dust that breathed against them from the winds.

The smell of death clung to them - of men cut down by the foul of the blade or by the crushing of hooves. Blood was smeared angry and red along the grass.

The battle had just begun not moments ago - and they were already cheated out of victory, or so it would seem.

Smoke, and lot's of it began to billow at all corners of the field. In every which direction they were trapped, caught by their own doing.

No one, it seemed, would escape the slaughter.

And yet the Chieftain, with his cloak at his back wrapped tight and pinned with silver broach, urged his men on with a battle cry so fierce it scared the horses half to death, making them skitter like shy colts at the hands of a whip.

With a hand so quick, scarred fast already with blood and mud, Berwald Oxenstierna raised his hand and dropped it quickly to his horses withers, commanding a whole slew of arrows at his opponents who lurked before him like hungry birds of prey, about to be fattened by the feasting of dead corpses.

The awful sound the reindeer horn and iron forged arrows made as they flew across the perfect blue sky caused every man wince. It was like the wisp and hum of a sparrows first call before the initial, _thunk_, was heard and the men across from them immediately fell down to their slow and painful deaths.

The wailing was insistent, gnawing at the back of Berwald's mind as he realized, with a sick churn in his gut, that he had just sent a whole pack of men knocking at the petulance filled Hall of the Goddess Hel, where she would greet them with open arms half rotted.

But, he could not think of such piteous things, he told himself through a mind muddled with the sounds of downed men groaning and the scent of blood and sweat fresh in the air.

He needed to end this quickly, one way or the other - his men wouldn't last long against the Slavic Princess of Death, as she was now titled by his men. Their murmuring words lingering in Berwald's ears around him. _We come from the mother's womb, so we must return to the mother's jaws. _It was fitting to die by the hands of a woman now.

Berwald cringed.

He still had fight in him left, and he would not be deterred by the youngest of the three Slavic siblings - such would leave a stain on his past accomplishments and create his past air of strength into a laughing embarrassment. To be beaten by a warrior to so young? He would rather die.

No, he would push on.

He reared his horse in, reins cutting once again against his thumb and between his middle and index finger - leaving them bloody and aching, but he would got forth with scream and rage. He would stick Natasha where she sat atop her monstrous horse - throw her over the beast till she ceased to breath. For it was told that a Slav would always prefer to die atop their mount. Berwald would give her that much of respect once she was dead and he was rid of her.

For his men, for his State, for his wife and child - he would fight till the end.

"Rally yer' bows - taunt 'em steady with arrows!" Berwald commanded, raising his hand up once more, his eyes shrewdly gazing at the next line of the Slavic's defense - more horsemen thundering to them with a speed that could match that of lightning. Berwald ground his teeth together, his gaze a frightful glare that stormed and thundered.

Then, his hand came down - a death sentence to his enemies, to those before him.

At the second flight of arrows, the damage was teeming with relief for Berwald.

The horses shrieks were stolen right from their throats as iron tips stabbed through them, at their necks, breasts, haunches and bellies. They tumbled to the floor with a great feat, their bodies floundering, rolling over their helpless riders - suffocating them to death with their weight till they soon stilled and succumbed to death.

Only a few beasts limped onward, some completely unscathed by luck, and with another short command Berwald sent his riders against them - this time with orders to stay mounted - at the remaining men to finish them off before Natasha sent in another batch.

The sounds were horrific as his men ran outward, foot soldier and mounted men. The noises were horrible, yes, but all together satisfying - the giant beast-like horses of the Slavic's could be lamed like any other pony. They were strong - but not immortal.

Berwald smiled, feeling the war return in their favor, and not a moment too soon.

With his jade eyes now teeming with blood lust that he inherited from his father, Berwald then snarled deep in his throat and squeezed his horse hard against her belly, the dark animal leaping into a canter before Berwald righted her and sent her into a gallop.

The Swedish Chieftain finally joined his men on the battle field, praying to the God of war to leave him unscathed and whole.

He should not like to find Tino gazing at his battered body, dead upon his shield.

…

_Flamme Mund _made a startled knicker as Mathias urged him to ride faster, harder, until the damn beast was flecked in sweat and dusted with mud.

And yet still he pushed, past men whose faces he had grown up with, some new and scared, others fierce and loyal. Mathias gazed into those faces as they past by him in a hasty blur - hoping to the Goddesses of Norns that each and everyone of those he pasted would be sparred.* Dear Gods above, he hopped so.

Yet all too soon his thoughts were stolen from him, urged into more pressing matters as he, none too gently, yanked the reins of his horse back. The animal hacked for a few seconds, rearing up front legs before tucking his head down.

Mathias patted his heaving flesh, apologizing to his mount for ridding him so brutally - but he had a task to achieve and it called for quickness and stealth.

Stopping his horse by a patch of willows, Mathias gazed breathlessly at the stock of horses tied and tethered to their posts, their heads pulling at their ropes restlessly. They could hear the screams of the other animals, could smell the death around them - they wanted to break free and gallop away as fast as they could before they were turned into bloody fodder.

Mathias' pitied the poor beasts.

"I need men - a dozen or so - to ride with me to the caves to move the women and children to higher ground." Mathias announced, his thunderous voice snapping the men's attention around him, their gazes wide in the face of one of their leaders.

Fingers stalled at the leather chinches of their horses saddles, thumbs grazing against the cheeks of their ponies to calm them down. Eyes struggling to keep courage afloat within their gaze, looked to Mathias.

"Aye. I'll go." One man stepped forward, leading his mount - a flea-bitten grey pony - near Mathias. His eyes were a little bit more restless than the Dane would have liked, but he congratulated the man on his bravery none the less.

"Me too, I'll go." Said another, younger with freckles dotted along his face. He bit his thumb but he seemed sound enough in his decision.

Mathias gave him a grin, trying his best to ease the boy's fright.

Soon, many other hands were raised and ponies were mounted.

Bits were pressed against sore mouths and branches of willows were broken off and taken to palms and switched along their horses bellies. The animals were startled to the right, back around the battle that was a loud roar in front of them - the clanking of shields and hatchets sinking and knocking into chain mail and leather armor.

"The battle has taken a turn for the worse, and we must move our people higher and farther away, lest they be caught in the crossfire! Arm yourself well - keep your eyes about you! Ambushes could await us!" And with those words, Mathias and his band of sixteen warriors were off, their ponies hooves kicking dust into the wind that caressed the dead soldiers further on, the scent waving off of their noses.

No telling how many had fallen, and how many more would.

…

The caves dripped water from the ceilings and walls - the sliding of moisture a constant sound that grated on their already frayed nerves.

_Drip, Drip….Drip._

They had been in these caves that smelled dank and humid for what seemed like years - yet the shining light from the sun at the mouth of the rock only suggested a few hours. _Alsvid_ and _Arvak_ were still racing across the sky yet, dragging the sun along with them.*

Yet the time went on and on, being filled by soft little sobs from the few women who had come to this war camp with their husbands, offering to cook and sew for the warriors as they were accustomed to. They wailed, mouths stuffed with linen to muffle their piteous cries, claiming that there lovers had become the _Einherjar_ in the Halls of the Slain.* The crone-like healers that Tino met in his first days at the camp had to physically hold the women to their breasts and laps, patting their hair lovingly to shush them. They warned them to not cry as if their husbands were dead, but to cry joyously that they would instead be alive and well - away from a ravens claw, from the _Valkyries_ tender touch.

Some women were solemnly quiet though, choosing to stare at the floor blankly as their babe tangled their fingers in their mothers hair, crying for attention. The child was hushed with a soft hit to their back or a tender kiss. It depended how lost the mother was in her terrible thoughts - how much she had lost to herself.

The could only think of their brothers, sons, husbands who right at this very moment were probably fending off an onslaught of Slavic soldiers - some already dead upon the floor, waiting for their bodies to be reclaimed by familiar flames of burial.

None of the inhabitants of the cave wanted to think too much upon that now - not when their bellies ached with hunger and their children - the ones born in the camp some years or months before - wailed and cried for their fathers. The mothers, sisters, and little brothers did their best to calm down the little ones with halfhearted silly faces and whispers of stories - ones with bumbling trolls, and swans that glittered over waters, of ravens feasting and of necklaces of gold.

Yet the babes still wailed, the old and wounded still groaned, and the insistent water still dripped down upon them.

It was torture, Tino thought. Pure torture.

His hands stilled in their petting of Peter's hair, the child's cheek resting on his Mamma's lap as the Finns fingers combed. He willed his thoughts to go elsewhere, to fly high above the air like an Eagle and leave him and his villagers in peace. Away from torment.

But it was no such luck.

Every foreign noise sent shivers up their spine, breaths being held in mouths and lungs quieted.

No one would breath - for seconds, minutes if they could. They would rather suffocate and die silently than to be found by spear in their gut. It would be an easier way to die, at least. Nobler.

But then the sound would go away - and they'd realize with relief that it was a blue jay hopping above them on the rocks, a sweeping wind caressing the opening of the cave, a pinecone fallen from a tree. And all would be like before - tensed murmuring in anticipation - waiting for the noise of wails and screams. Of the battle moving upward, towards them in their weakened state. Of being found and killed in the most inhumane of ways.

Thoughts of the like were soon banished by the sounds of words, calming and shallow, from the right of where Tino sat.

"…And then, do you know what Utgard-Loki said unto Thor, Loki, Roskva, and Thialfi?"* Tino could hear Nikolas' soft cool voice over the dripping water and the hiccups of sobbing. He could see his cousin's shadowed face, plastered with ease and wonderment, as he tried to calm the children at his feet who leaned in closer to the story.

Their eyes were joyful, tickled and pure.

The recollection of the destruction going on outside seemed to fade like an old memory - a bad dream.

One of the children, a lean little girl whose hair was braided at her back, grabbed at Nikolas' robes, insisting that he tell them.

_What did Utgard-Loki say? Did Thor hit him dead with his hammer? Did Roskva and Thialfi get eaten by the Giant King? What of the goats? _

Tino couldn't help his own smile form over his face as he felt Peter lean in as well, wanting to catch Nikolas' words even though he insisted that he was a big boy and didn't need to be coaxed to not cry by silly stories.

Though this silly story seemed to content the children well, it even smoothed over Tino's nerves some. The Tale of Thor and Loki's journey to Utgard. Where they met the King of the land who challenged them at many feasts. To eat faster than any other, to outrun every competitor, to drink more than any man and to lift up weighty things and win at a game of arm wrestling.

Many deeds the Gods and their two twin servants had to accomplish - and they lost at everyone proposed to them.

"Well, Utgard-Loki, with a smile, told Thor and Loki and their servants that they had actually done well with his challenges. Even though it seemed that they had lost at each one, they had almost beat impossible feats! For you see, the King had used spells to trick them into losing!" Nikolas smiled, hugging his little baby brother closer to his neck while the child's eyes widened at the stories tale.

"When Loki lost to Logi at the eating contest, he did so because Logi was wildfire himself. No one could eat as much as fire. Thialfi lost to Hugi, because Hugi was thought itself. No one could outrun thoughts. Thor lost to the drinking contest because his horn was filled with the sea itself, he could not lift up the cat because it was Jornmungand, the Midgard serpent. He could not wrestle Elli because she was old age. They had done well, even with their losses."

"Then what did Thor do? Surely he went into a rage?" A little boy of about eight spoke, his mouth opening to show a gap where he had lost his baby teeth.

Nikolas gave a wryly smile to the lad, ruffling his hair with his free hand.

"Thor was angry, so very angry - but before he could kill Utgard-Loki for tricking him, the King disappeared… _By magic_."

"And the Hall?" Peter suddenly asked, his breathing stuttered as he spoke against Tino's knees. The Finn smiled, glad that his child was listening to the story. It would take his mind off of worse things. Things that would surely give him nightmares for years.

"The Hall disappeared too, only the dents in the earth from where Thor hit against it in vain." Nikolas spoke with edged eeriness, making the children squeal and bite at their lips - the tale too good, too filled with amazement for their young ears.

But before the children could be quickly quieted for their laugher by their elders, the sound of horses hooves thrummed from outside the caves - the noise echoing into the hole in the mountain where the old stayed in swaths of wool too keep the dampness out of their bones.

Everyone stiffened in the sinister darkness of the cavern where no one was permitted to light even a bit of kindle for warmth - to smoke a pipe of ash, to even breath lest the sound drift out the cave and the horses ears picked it up.

Tino caught the whites of Nikolas' eyes as he rounded the little grouping of children to Tino and him, some young women wrapped the crooks of their arms over the children's mouths to keep them from screaming out in fright should an arrow be let loose into the darkness.

But after several tense seconds, the noise and clatter of hooves was climbing louder over the hills. Nearer, closer.

They could hear every snort, every jingle of the silver spurs, every twist of the leather saddle, every wooing word of praise and devotion -

Tino stopped his blind gazing to stare out at the sunny light from the mouth of the crater, his ears picking up the sound of… He dared not believe it. He must be mad… That couldn't be…

"_Mathias?_"Nikolas whispered under his breath, his words choking slightly in his throat.

"It could be a spell, a trick." The woman closest to the Norwegian spoke, her hands grabbing at Nikolas' knee in a comforted warning.

_Do not become ensnared. _Her eyes seemed to plead, but Nikolas ignored her, sitting up softly from his place on a rock, his hands holding his baby brother to him with nervousness.

The silver haired child seemed to also pick up the sound of the Dane, his mumbling of "Father…?" Questioning on his little boyish lips.

Nikolas held his breath, waiting for the familiar voice again.

"Let no man mock another because of his love. Time an' again the wise are fettered by beauty, and ache with love-longing, while fools remain unmoved and free!"* Came the off key sounds of the Dane's singing, his words laughing as they fluttered against the walls of the cave.

Everyone took a deep steady breath, praying with all their might that this was not an illusion, this was no false trickery.

The Danes had come to rescue the people, to tell them the battle was over, won and done with and that the losses were small. They hoped that their thoughts did not betray them - for that would be the worse way to be deceived.

Everyone prayed, hands to their breasts as they scurried over the flattened rocks of the cavern, some hardly waiting as they sprung forth into the sunlight that burned their eyes and made them wince.

But Nikolas was the first.

He launched himself out of the hovel like shelter like a bat taking flight into the night, the babe at his waist wailing to see his father - to play with his Pappa's hair and to squish his fingers to his fathers face.

At the sound of movement from the caves, the Danes and Swedes, those who had joined the Southern Wolves Tribes leader, smiled and grinned at the people who swarmed out like a great bought of water breaking from it's dam.

Their horses shied some as familiar faces gathered around them, as babies cried and wives and friends sobbed against the shifting bodies of the horses, kissing palms and holding arms that were outstretch.

But none were as happy as Nikolas.

He yanked Mathias down by his belts, toppling the Dane from his horse who gave a startled neigh, the Dane laughing as he was then dragged up by feverish hands and peppered with kisses. his child was pressed into his arms, squawking with glee.

Tino had never seen his cousin look so ecstatic, so relieved.

But that all came to a crashing halt.

After kissing his bride with fury, Mathias had to pull back, he had to look at Nikolas in the eyes and mumble words to his ears, words that Tino not hear but could see made the Norwegians eyes cloud with sorrow.

_Bad news, worse news. _Tino's mind thought, nagging at him.

They were not going home, the battle was not over.

There was still more killing to commence.

Tino felt sick as he held his son to him, kissing the top of his head.

Mathias pulled away from his two loves to gaze at the people who had settled down, their eyes confused as to why they were not walking back down to the valley, to their little tents and hovels - to cook a good meal and tend to the wounded, to burn the dead.

"We are still at war - the battle has not been won!" Mathias spoke loudly, scaring off a few blue jays who had roosted against the tall trees around them. Their caws of anger made the superstitious wince.

Murmuring then soon erupted, like a disease let loose within the air. Worried faces gazed back and forth, heels of palms pressed tight to lips to keep from sobbing.

The torture was not over. Not in the slightest.

"We are losing ground fast - the Slavic's have used our own strategy against us and therefore we have decided to move you all up higher, towards the bigger caves that will provide more cover from nightfall." Mathias' words were met with groans of despair, of women once again fearing they were widows, of children crying against the warm air that covered them with heat - of the looks of fright of being out in the open one again.

"We must hurry now - we have brought horses for the women with child, for the old and wounded." The Dane then placed his adopted son back into the hands of Nikolas who only bit his lip to keep the tears inside, willing himself not to cry, not to wail.

Tino too, found his stomach turned into knots, feeling as if the wind had just been knocked out of him.

But before he could think more upon such travesty, he was being settled into the saddle of his pony. His fingers numbly grabbed for the reins as he, leading Peter closer to his own horse, began to click his tongue deftly to get the horses into a trot.

After the rest of the beasts, the ones hidden in the trees, and the fresh ones the soldiers had brought, were all put to good use, they made their way up the steep trail to the larger caves.

Everyone murmuring a prayer for the sounds down below into the valley to quiet -for their to be a victor on their side.

For the Battle to end.

…

Authors Notes:

-And yet still he pushed, past men whose faces he had grown up with, some new and scared, others fierce and loyal. Mathias gazed into those faces as they past by him in a hasty blur - hoping to the Goddesses of Norns that each and everyone of those he pasted would be sparred.* - The Norns were the three Norse Goddesses of Fate

-_Alsvid_ and _Arvak_ were still racing across the sky yet, dragging the sun along with them.* - Alsvid and Arvak were the horses that pulled the sun on it's course.

-They wailed, mouths stuffed with linen to muffle their piteous cries, claiming that there lovers had become the _Einherjar_ in the Halls of the Slain.* - Einherjar were the heroes who died in battle and feasted in the hall of the slain.

-"…And then, do you know what Utgard-Loki said unto Thor, Loki, Roskva, and Thialfi?"* - The Norse Story "Thor and his journey to Utgard."

-"Let no man mock another because of his love. Time an' again the wise are fettered by beauty, and ache with love-longing, while fools remain unmoved and free!"* - Odins words to warn men against women.


	23. The Phoenix's Snare

**Welcome to the next Chapter of Barbarians Healer! It's chalk full of nasty bloody bits and hacking and, oh, delicious slaughter! So, welcome! Welcome! I'd like to thank my wonderful translators who mean so much to me even if I haven't called upon them in a while! I love you beautiful translators! Thank you to **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**! **

**And I STILL owe an apology to** I eat souls for breakfast**, as I have not called upon her wonderful assistance yet because I am a poo-poo head and an ass and I am deeply sorry, dear! I beg for your forgiveness!** I do not own Hetalia or it's characters - though I do own this story! **This chapters song is **Vedergällningens Tid **by** Månegarm**.**

…

The grip of his sword was slippery with sweat as he hardened his hand along it's pommel, stabbing his palm against the hilt till the blade sunk into it's mark like a nail to a piece of wood.

_Thunk. _A perfect hit.

Blood sparked from the now opened wound, the warrior's chest drenched in the red hot substance as it ran freely from his amour - coating the shiny bronze metal a dangerous color. The color of victory.

The downed man screamed and gripped at the Swede's short cloak, his mouth dribbling blood and foam that was dyed pink. In no time at all though, his thrashing was put to an end as Berwald dragged his sword back from his body, dripping with blood - It practically gleamed in the sunlight.

Kicking back the mans lifeless form to the floor Berwald turned his head away from his latest conquest in search of another fight, his eyes scanning the madness that had erupted at all ends around him.

He didn't need to wait long.

A cry - a scream of heated anger flared against Berwald's ears, causing the Swede to shift his weight to the left, his feet bumping and body brushing against the side of his horse who he had dismounted to fighter, her reins left drooping to the ground as her eyes rolled and she made a quick show of skittering away from his master - weary of his swaying blade.

From nowhere a sword came flying through the air like a bird of prey swooping down upon it's meal, aiming for the unprotected flesh at Berwald's neck.

With a heavy breath Berwald just managed to spin his shoulders and body away from harms hateful glare, sending the Swedish Chieftain backwards as he barely missed the edge of the sword.

In frustration, his opponent who had frayed blonde hair long and free and eyes that gleamed like coals, growled and showed sharp teeth.

The Swedes current enemy heaved up his long sword again, over his shoulders, trying with all his might to smack it against Berwald's collarbone to shatter his arm - leaving him useless and unarmed. Easier to kill, like a vulture picking at a free meal.

But Berwald would not have that, such a hindrance placed upon him - he needed to live. So he called upon that drive, that internal instinct that was nestled in his gut and burned like a flame. The drive to live - to kill.

The Swede gasped for breath within his starving lungs and swung both his arms back, sword long and poised like a snake ready to strike. And strike it did.

As the Slavic raised his fists above the air to shatter his weapon against Berwald's skull, shoulders, neck - anywhere to weaken him, to kill him - Berwald struck first.

The blade drew through the hide, the cloth, the flesh till Berwald felt the softness of organs, of insides coiled tight. He felt the mans stomach come undone, his guts trailing black from the large gash Berwald had ripped open within him. Black as the clouds in April.

Dropping the grip from his sword, the nameless man's eyes rolled downward, a whine escaping his mouth as his hands cupped at his stomach, fingers tinged with scarlet to grace his palm. He tried his best to suck his organs back inside with shaky fingers, to give him life again, but his face soon became flushed with nausea and he threw himself to the floor, retching and sobbing till he lay still with a groan on his lips.

Berwald did not even watch the man's final seconds as he turned his back to him, knowing fully well that he would not need to be assured of his kill. The man was food for the crows and worms now. No longer the Swede's concern.

He had lost count of how many men he had put to death with his double edge sword. How many lives he had stolen with his hands and vengeance alone - how many throats he was lucky enough to cut, how many arms he chopped off before he went in for the kill. How many women he had made widows and how many children he had left orphans.

But, such was the likes of warfare - everyone was affected. No one escaped the slaughter.

Coincidently though, slaughter was not the right word for this - this amassing of men who were cheated out of life by each others hands.

No longer could the horses be heard - they had been slain long ago, tongues rolling from their mouths, eyes being decorated by the hungry swarms of flies. His own horse had shied too easily and seemed to have left him a ways away - hopefully a stray arrow had not caught and lamed her where she stood.

No longer could the whistles of the arrows be heard - they had run our of iron forged tips and reindeer bones much too quickly for their ammunition to be re-stocked. However, it was probably for the better - as Berwald would have risked killing his own men in this swamped fray. It was hard enough telling friend from foe already. They did not need to add whimsical sharpened bone and iron into the mix.

No longer could he ever hear the horns of the Slav's blowing out shrills of notes commanding _attack, kill, slay_ - only "Retreat, Retreat, Retreat!" could be heard through the sounds of death and groans.

Retreat…

Berwald's eyes widened, his gaze catching the flickering of his flags as they sunk into the earth - of the crowns of ravens feathers at each posts, of the wolves skulls that shone milky white against the pale blue sky, of the claws of the exotic lion that shook and knocked in the breeze.

Those posts, rods of cedar and ash, of oak and pine - were his markers of victory. Places his men had advanced and conquered, had overturned, had stolen from the hands of the Slavic's with _triumph_.

Berwald swallowed low in his throat as his mind began reeling, processing the very physical symbols of his conquest that shone boldly to his eyes.

He was winning - the Danes and the Swedes were gaining ground, were stamping out the enemy as if they were mere ants under their boots.

They had advanced bravely and their strife was shown rewarded stark across the sky like a banner of hope. It was a miracle - Odin had blessed them with a sure win! The battle was almost over, was delivered quick into their hands!

But…

Berwald's breathing quickened, his eyes showing fear for the first time since his horse's hooves set themselves along the red ground stained with his kin's blood.

But, they had been outnumbered… two hundred and seventy five to the Slavic's three hundred. They had been flayed with great horses who galloped into death without fear. They had been slaughtered by weapons unlike their own primitive bronze and iron.

They couldn't have won.

The should be dead, survivors wrapped in shackles and heads torn from bodies to be paraded around the outcrop of the Russians forts and territories.

Then, he realized it. Like thunder hitting atop his head, like burning nettles sunken into his flesh, like pikes jabbing against his bloodied ribs. He realized it.

Berwald curled his lip over his teeth, raging like a bull as he screamed to the sky, his hands waving about, blade whipping into the air.

"A Trick! _A Lie!_" He growled out with wrath and resentment.

They had been handed victory - on a golden platter of distrust.

His voice caught the ears of his men who were ahead of him, their bodies turned as they looked to their leader who was raving and barking and seeing red. No longer were warring men scattered about - the rest of the enemy had been cornered like dogs cowering behind their shields.

Swallowing up his anger, gripping his hands at his sides, Berwald began to run to his men, about fifty of them left, shouting out curses and scathing bitter words.

"A lie! A trick! We've been handed victory fer some reason - fer some horrible reason!" Berwald shouted, watching as his men's eyes turned glassy with shock.

They could barely believe the statement, their hands lazing from the grips of their axes and knives, swords and clubs.

They turned their gazes to the last of Natasha's men, barred behind shields shaped like tear drops, colored with images of phoenixes and other birds that soared into the air.

The Slavic's of today's battle were cornered, like sheep herded by a hungry pack of wolves. They were as good as dead.

And yet, the men behind their barrier, behind their man made shields laughed, a sneering sound that should not erupt from the throats of men who were about to be slain, dragged, quartered and burned alive.

Berwald's lips fell open, a spurt of breath erupting from his throat. He had a horrible feeling about that laughter, fit with cruelty and sick happiness.

"You believed! You believed that you had won!" Taunted one man, his face smeared with a hand print of blood, more than likely the blood of a Swede or Dane. His Swedish was crude but he got his words through none the less, and my how they burned.

Berwald gnashed his teeth together.

"What is this? What of this battle? If this was a trap ya' would 'ave killed us already! Victory was in yer' hands from th' very start!" Berwald raged, his neck extended as his face grew red, eyes shining bright. He threw his helmet to the floor in anger - the metal clattering against a lone shield still connected to a mans unmoving fingers.

His men took a few steps closer to the shielded pack of men, weapons taunt in a defensive stance, not looking as if to lash out like vipers. They were careful should they be ensnared by deceit.

"We do not find victory here - at the hands of Swedish and Danish blades. We find it elsewhere." The same man, who Berwald could only guess was in charge of this last stand of kinsmen, spat at the ground.

Berwald raised his sword, pointing it accusingly at the little shapely mass of men no more than twenty strong.

"What of yer bitch - yer _Princess a' Death! _Did she abandon ya'?" Berwald's voice thrummed in the heat, his adrenaline waning as his lungs struggled to feed themselves with air. He was becoming agitated, wishing for answers and only receiving riddles.

The group of Slav's behind their shields grimaced and bristled, their eyes swelling with hate at the Swedish Chieftains choice of words.

"Our lady has done her part - the _Princess of Death _has caused carnage on the battle field as her brother wished. She sleeps now, away at the settlement, warm and cozy with furs and cushions - she pets the heads of your dismembered men. She places them on pikes. She cuts their hair and burns it. She mourns them with a smile." Teeth grinned and flashed.

"_Enough! _Ya' mean ta' tell m' that yer' leader abandoned ya' in th' middle of ah' battle? Ta' die?" Berwald's voice grew and grew over the tittering silence, of blood dripping and crows squawking, of horses bellowing and ravens feasting. He felt his gut churning hot and painful inside him.

The Slavic's nodded, a grin on some of their lips, others shifted uncomfortably behind their kinsmen.

Berwald could barely believe what he was hearing.

"What of yer' Chieftain - of Ivan th' Terrible?" He demanded, snarling out with a glare.

"Our Leader has found his victory elsewhere." Came the reply, with a self assured nod before the man, with a beard that grew long and un-kept, spoke again. "Just as we have found ours here." The man was like a repeating mockingbird - singing the same tune over and over again.

Berwald's brows furrowed with confusion, his mouth parting open with distress, trying to find his voice again.

"Elsewhere?" He breathed out, demanding to be told - to be given a lead as to why all the tricks, all the violence that seemed to be covering something up - something to turn the tables.

The leader of the Slav's smiled grimly before he slid off his helmet, a showing of blood curling under his chin from a ripped ear.

Berwald, with eyes wide watched as the men inside the confinement of shields turned to one another, each pair of warriors fiddling with their baldric to free their sword out into the open air that burned at each mans throats. They lifted the helmets off their heads to show faces weary with sweat and dirt - of faces that were entirely mortal - faces that knew and had seen death like it was their lover, courting destruction till the end. Like all men did.

Then, with hilts grasped tight, the men pulled their swords back till they shone in the sunlight.

Berwald, fearing that the men were about to turn on the Nordic tribes, held his own blade up, threateningly. Biding them to come foreword. To taste the iron and spilt blood upon _Truce-Spiller_.

But the enemy never moved towards the Swedes and Danes, not one step. Instead, they clasped each other by the shoulders, one hand squeezing mail and leather, the other the grip of their sword or axe.

"The bird of prey awaits outside the caves - for the lions young he wishes to pluck and feast." Was all the brunette warrior said with hesitant breath before he plunged his sword into the man's stomach in front of him quickly, the warrior opposite him doing the same while he still had strength till they both slowly slid to the ground with a strangled groan. The other warriors around them, some with cries in their throats did the same - committing suicide by slaying each other with their own swords till their blood ran thick and no one stirred. The shields dropped into the saw grass, for no hands held them any longer. They all laid dead.

_Better to be killed quickly by a kin's blade than by the enemy. _Berwald heard one of his soldiers speak solemnly, the rest turning their backs on the mass suicide to await their leaders new commands.

However the sight before Berwald did little to hold his attention, his mind racing on what the bearded warrior had said right before he died, crumpling to the floor.

_The bird of prey awaits outside the cave - for the lions young he wishes to pluck and feast._

Berwald's sword clattered to the floor as his fingers grew numb at their place beside him, his breathing dampening the back of his throat - his neck beading with sweat. He felt a wave of nausea course over him and he could not stop his knees from buckling under him, sinking him into the soft earth as he griped his fingers through the dirt.

_Tino…Peter…Wife…Child…Family…Loved…Lost…Dead._

Berwald felt the bile burn at the back of his throat as he tried to not retch, his face flushed with pain as his eyes screwed shut.

Because, then, laying in the grass stained fat and greedy with blood, Berwald's mind finished the last part of the puzzle - the pieces finally fitting in together nicely with the others to paint a bloody picture that soon promised a world of pain and sorrow.

At that moment, the Northern Chieftain knew - the bird of prey had left the battlefield to gorge himself on the heir and bride of the Swedes, to leave nothing but bones picked clean and bleached in the sun.

…

**So, how's the blood working out for you? I know it's not much yet, but hopefully it will increase - ha ha! Anyhoo - now you have to wait for an update to see if Tino and Peter are alive or not! Hah! You know what I suggest to make the time go by faster? REVIEW, GODDAMNIT! Or else the Dolphins shall shank me, they will - those little bastards never kid. **


	24. Rowan Berries

**Welcome to the next chapter of Barbarians Healer! I had a lot of plans for this chapter and I had to change it so many times - so I hope the final version is to your liking. Once again, blood , torture, killing - yadda' yadda' yadda'. More importantly, I'd like to thank **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen** for being my excellent Translators! Much love to you, beauties! Also a extremely grateful thank you to **I eat souls for breakfast**, who I will call upon soon! **I do not own Hetalia but I do own this story! **For this chapter I recommend listening to the song **Algir-Tognatale **by **Wardruna**. Enjoy the chapter, guys!**

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The horses feet were far too loud as they plodded along the forest floor - their knees creaking as they made slow work of picking through rock and bush and root.

It seemed like they had been on the same trail for ages - feeling the sun beat down upon them through the gaps in the emerald trees, hearing the caws of crows as they tittered around them, smelling the scent of sweat that shined wet along horse and rider.

It was excruciatingly painful on Tino's nerves and he found himself, after every few seconds, scanning to the left and right of him, his eyes seeing things among the shade, hearing strange noises not far off in the yew trees.

It was only in his head though, he'd reason with himself. He was well guarded - they all were. Mathias and his men were well armed and mounted on fierce little beasts that - when urged, could run and escape anything. They were like wee little jack rabbits - harmless looking but as fast as a burning flame. Tino was sure of it.

But that assurance seemed to do very little for the itch between his shoulder blades, the prickly sensation that they were indeed being examined, being observed - like one of Nikolas' creature specimens held tight in a hazy glass jar. Being turned over and prodded. It felt as if they were being watched by a predator, and a skilled one at that.

Tino bit his lip and drew his gaze downward, finding that being nervous with his body would result in his horse becoming quiet cross with him - the animal already perking his ears up due to Tino's unconscious tightening of his reins.

He turned his gaze to his child then, the little boy petting absently at his horses cropped mane, the gelding who Peter named _Dala_, snorted at the touch - stubby little legs working over time to keep up with the other animals. Tino smiled, finding some comfort as he looked upon his child whose hair shone golden in the sunlight that filtered through.

He needn't worry - they were completely protected.

At every few feet a Danish or Swedish Warrior had his mount pace along the mass of civilians, as if they were herding cattle and not precious cargo - women and children, elderly folk that moaned and sobbed dryly in their hands smeared with dirt. They were on complete guard.

But Tino knew they had little time for care - they had to get these people safe and tucked away into the mounds of the earth where the dwarfs dwelled - where the dew dripped like white gold and where the wind could be heard better inside than out. They needed to be nestled safely, or else Tino did not know what would happen to them, out in the open like this. They were moving targets.

Yes, there was trees to guard them, silent stalks of musty smelling wood - but even trees were no match for a phoenix who could use heated breath to burn the greenery to the ground.

Tino sniffed, willing his mind to just stop - stop thinking of horrible things, of bodies burned and charred, of shackles on his people's wrists and ankles, of children sold into slavery.

_Just, stop it._ He begged himself, biting the inside of his lip, holding his head tall as he stared ahead at nothing in particular - a pinecone, a boxwood shrub, a flash of red from a Robins breast.

But still his mind raced, still his gut churned and his muscles tensed, as if something was off and his body was screaming at him to figure it out, to be wary, afraid even…

Then… He heard it.

It rushed through the air like a great storm - the sound of thunder echoed in his ear as his horse snorted like a yearling, bucking up with his hind legs in short little jabs that made Tino's eyes blur and his stomach become nauseous.

He could barely make out the yell of Mathias as the Dane gripped the reins of his horse tight, making the beast jerk his head up and down - skin around his mouth turning red from the insistent pull at his lips.

"It's an ambush, they have found us - _Angreb!_"* His teeth bit out the command to raise sword, axe, stick - anything against the thrash of horses bigger than anything Tino had ever seen. Like giants they were - long necks and round bodies and whipping tails - like dragons. They were as tall as any man - taller than Berwald - with ears pointed and teeth bared as they yelped, long legs leaping over fallen logs and beating against branches of trees till their riders unleashed them upon the herded people who were shrieking and wailing, holding children in their arms as they ran.

Tino's breath escaped his lips in a mad dash as he reached out to the right of him, yanking the reins out of Peter's stunned hands just before the child's mouth puckered and he began to wail and scream, his sounds being cut off by the clanking of swords.

The skirmish had begun, horses spurred into the mad dash of the Russians mounted warriors - men and women's corpses already littering the once peaceful forest path. It was horrible - the screaming and shattering cries as blade smacked against blade, as blood dripped from throats and mouths. As more and more people stilled, breathing no more.

"Nyet, nyet! Leave the women and children to run - we are not heartless - we will not gorge ourselves on peasant flesh! We've come for finer things, tastier things!" Tino heard a strong voice shout, the words circulating in his brain, making him sick with bile in his throat.

At least they would stop their bloodlust on the helpless, on the villagers… at least they would give the tribes that much of a gift… Tino thought with blinding tears in his eyes as his mind raced on what to do, how to get away.

But his thoughts were soon severed from him, by the slash of a sword that swung dangerously close to the flanks of his horse, the animal snorting out a fierce noise of protest as he stamped away.

Tino did the best he could to control the beast as he kicked madly with his boot, lodging the pony against the unknown attackers chest till the man, winded, backed off to better strain his legs in a fighting stance, coming back at the Finn with yelling breath and madness in his eyes.

But thank the God of War above and the Fates that spun wool and twine into the tapestry of Tino's life - the Finn was faster.

Reaching with slim fingers he quickly pulled out a dagger that had been tied loosely with strips of linen to his goat hide boots - the short little sticker blade doing it's damage as it stabbed through the peach colored flesh of the mans throat. The Slavic soldier hadn't known what hit him as he fell backward, clawing at his neck, fingers digging into the newly opened meat. Flecks of blood sprayed against the once immaculate coat of the Finnish mans Dapple grey pony, as Tino clicked his tongue to his cheek in a hitching sound, knife still glinting in the wound.

The Finnish man didn't even look back as he leaned forward in his saddle, yelling at Peter to hold tight to the his ponies clipped mane as best as he could. Then, with a flicker of determined eyes, Tino kicked _Mjölk_ hard in the ribs, the pony hiccupping before he bolted forward, dragging _Dala_ with him, both horses galloping over the moldy forest floor.

They swerved and danced past giant beasts who seemed to breathe fire and smoke as they barreled after them, men with gleaming bronze armor raised deadly weapons, shaking them in the air that smelled sweet with death. Their mouths pressed words over teeth that thrilled Tino's heart - that sent it raising with fear over the mountains, sprung forth from the Finn's ribcage. It left him breathless and frightened for his very life.

Soon though, Tino heard the clatter of hooves after him that were much too near, a voice shouting to _keep going, keep riding, don't stop - stop and they will kill you. _

Recognizing the voice to be Nikolas' atop his Fjord urging Tino on over the sound of battle, Tino kicked his horse sharply, urging the fat animal to gallop - to race against the very sun itself before it set into the ocean. To not be caught, be caught and you shall be dead.

Tino swallowed hard as _Mjölk _jumped over a upturned tree root, the Finn's eyes peppering with hot tears as he gripped harder at Peter's own lead ropes. He couldn't let go, he couldn't rein in, he couldn't stop.

He turned his head carefully, tucking it against his shoulder as his gaze caught his cousins not far behind him, the Norwegians left arm cradling his screaming baby brother, his other hand holding on painfully tight to his horse's short hair till his knuckles turned white.

Tino felt the air ripped from his lungs as he sharpened his teeth against his lip, eyes scanning around him as the colors of the forest escape past him in a blur of olive and yellow - little dots of red and browns from where Tino could see all around him Slavic's fast approaching, horses bellowing with heavy spurts of breath as they soon flanked the Finn from all sides. Trapping him with walls of horse flesh and flashing hooves. With sharpened spears and sneering words.

Then, Tino felt it - strips of leather being smacked against him and his horse - erupting a cry from his lips as thin switches of willow soon joined the beating that stung against his clothed body. Those of the proud phoenix - they were whipping him off his animal - like damned crows plucking at his skin when he was still alive and breathing.

Pained gulps of air reached his ears as Peter too began to be pelted by roped knots, men with leather caps doing their best to grip at the Finn, at his robes, his horses bridle - anything to get him to stop, to slow - to fall to the ground where they would fall upon him and _feast_.

_Mjölk _could not take it, was not fast enough to best against these long legged monsters. Tino could feel his pony slowing, wheezing as spit and foam flew from his mouth, eyes rolling as if the dappled animal would drop dead at that very moment from exhaustion.

It was then that Tino knew he was beaten. He had lost, he could feel the noose around his neck tighten, feel the flames lick up at his feet. His child and him would be buried in a shallow unmarked grave, no hope of rejoining together in the land of the Gods.

Tino didn't expect it then, - didn't expect the knotting of fingers, the thin feel of hands as they grabbed at him like the souls of Hel clinging to drag him down and eat his liver, throat, stomach - rip them open, make him bleed.

No matter how hard he screamed and swore they would no be deterred, not in the slightest - their madness was fueled by his cries. They yanked him little by little off his saddle, till, with a shriek the Finn was clinging onto dear life to _Mjölk's _shaggy mane. He felt the horses hair fall into his fists as he pulled it out painfully, threads of silver falling to the floor. He had lost Peter's reins long ago - not knowing if his child was dead to him or not. It was a frightful thought that he pushed from his already fevered mind. He did not want to know what had happened to his son - what cruelties would befall him.

One man, with calloused hands yanked at his robe collar tightly. So close was he, that Tino could smell his breath - the scent of wine and musky meat wafting from behind his teeth. It made the Finnish man gag as he tried to grab at his dagger, to plunge it at the man, to stick it through his yellowed flesh - only to realize that that was gone to him too.

He had no weapon to defend himself, not even his own fists as his hand was soon crushed brutally with an enemies fingers. The Finn's hands ceasing their clawing.

The next grabbed at his foot, pulling and wrenching at his leg till Tino finally toppled, the side of his body grating into the earth that was wet and loose with springs rains and the indents of hooves. His knees sunk into the dirt that smelled sharp - sharp like blood.

His chest heaved as he dug upward, ignoring the pain in his hips, at his neck as he crawled away from the sound of slowing horses, of laughing, of the snapping of sticks that would soon be used to beat him into submission. Beat him to death.

Before he could get far though, before he could roll down the shallow edges of the forest to escape into the trees, to wait until dark where they would be less likely to hunt for him, Tino felt fingers grip him tightly, the Finn screaming and struggling against those hands that grabbed him.

"Tino, _hush_ - it is Nikolas - it is me!" He heard his cousin's voice melt over him - a clenching feeling that allowed Tino to hear the Norwegians pain and fear so very clearly in his tone.

"Get up, _get up!_"The Norwegian hissed as he pulled the Finnish man to his wobbly feet. Tino's head - he could feel it pounding, thrumming with the oncoming's of a concussion so fierce no amount of chamomile tea could stave it off.

But he could barely hear Nikolas anymore as his eyes swam, his lashes closing open and shut. He was slowly being pulled under.

But, if he tried hard enough, persuaded his eyes to stay awake, he could still see shapes and colors - see the red of Mathias' tunic as the Dane, who must have been bucked from his horse long ago, cradled his hands around Nikolas and two little shapes who Tino then recognized at their children. They were shaking and sobbing, Peter and Björt safe from harms way for now, still living in the world of men as the were huddled to familiar warmth.

All too soon though, Tino's eyes were torn away from the sight of the children, of the two little lads who would inherit great clans, great tribes - because in that frightening moment, Ivan the Terrible chose to reveal himself in all his glory and triumph.

The first thing Tino's mind betrayed his with was that his hands were fine - lovely and strong as they rested the decorated reins from his mounts bridle to the pommel of his saddle, a fine thing crafted in the East with sewn designs that displayed his wealth. With glittering harnesses in the shapes of birds heads - tongues of gold sticking out thinly.

Spurs jingled with the sound of silver as his heavy boots, pulled up to his knee in Slavic fashion, stepped along the now clipped earth that was an odd color of brown - red from the blood of men mixed with the dark soil of _Ymir's_ body to create a stench unimaginable. A stench that left your pallet tasting sweet and your stomach feeling raw.

He was disaster himself, Tino decided, as he watched a smile, like a crescent moon, dance over the man's face that he was sure would now plague his nightmares - if he even lived to have another nights sleep, another dream.

He was betting he wouldn't.

"Hello, Gentlemen," he grinned softly, as if he was unsure of the movement, as if the gesture always came natural to him, but not this time. He looked as if he had little to smile about.

"I am sure you know who I am, yes?" He leaned closer, his body smelling sweet - like lilac and lye soap, like a rivers water and a moons night. He smelled deceivingly beautiful. Tino did not like it one bit.

Mathias spat on the ground then at the Russians first words, his gaze fluttering some, as if he was still dizzy and still coping from what must have been a terrible fall from his mount.

"Go to _Hel_, Ivan." He growled, causing the Slavic Chieftains eyebrows to raise in surprise, mock shyness glancing over his eyes.

Eyes that burned like the phoenix.

"My Goodness, are all Scandinavian welcomes so harsh? And I hear you are a hospitable people - always ones to help your sister tribes." Ivan clicked his tongue in a disapproving manner, his long and strong fingers raised themselves from at his sides - fingers that commanded armies, that drove men to death by sword. Fingers that were dipped in blood.

"We have no reason to welcome you - you and your men that swoop down like a plague - like infested crows biting with fleas!" Mathias barked with anger, with fuming power before Nikolas, fearful of their very lives gripped tightly at his lovers arm as if to whisper, _halt, stop - or you shall find your head on a pike!_

But the words had already did their damage as Ivan sighed, looking to the floor with disapproval before he raised his head, eyes turning to his men who were swiftly approaching, some dragging screaming and howling bodies that flailed with their limbs entangled.

_The rest of our soldiers_, Tino realized with a gut wrenching pain in his body that washed over him coldly, like spring water. Like a river of cold blood - the blood of his warriors, his protectors. His people.

"I had hoped we could talk like civilized men." Ivan's words were carefully picked, as if he was still trying to master the Nordic language - his own feeling much better on his tongue - much smoother and well fined.

Mathias snarled as he watched his men, Dane and Swede being thrown to the ground that was now misting in the late sun that wood cool fairly soon - leaving mist and dew coated lovely along the forest and swamp.

Tino could not look away from their eyes, so wide, as Slavic soldiers soon approached them with hardened gazes. Gazes sick no longer, just dead. Dead and tired of the killing - but reluctant to stop.

They could never stop.

Ivan raised his hand, the movement lazy and regrettable before he swiped it downward, causing the most bone shattering sound Tino had ever heard in his life that erupted with little warning, without warning.

The growls, the moans, the screams - blades of bronze and iron tilted under necks, fingers gripping at long blonde hair as one by one the soldiers, their warriors so proud and skilled - lay on the molding floor with blood seeping into their tunics, eyes glazed like that of an animal laid to slaughter.

Nikolas looked away with anguish, doing his best to squeeze his brother and nephew against his chest to shield their eyes from the sight - from the blood that soaked into the earth, from the carnage that pleased only the Goddess Hel below.

Those men were in her boney embrace now.

But the slaughter, once over - once scenting the air sweetly with dead flesh and salty with blood, did not seem to please Ivan, as he closed his eyes softly, curiously before those violet plum iced eyes made their way to the royal family - the Danish Chieftain, the two lovers, and the sons that would inherit the whole connecting tribes - land from the North of Denmark to the South of Swede. Land that Ivan needed - wished, wanted with more than anything in the world.

Then, as if by another silent cue by Ivan's purple eyes alone, one of the men, with a few smears of blood on his face that seemed to vex him so, took a few steps towards the cluster of Nordics. His eyes shone a misty green as he placed his sword gingerly back into it's baldric and swept out his small bone handled dagger instead - a much more favorable instrument for slitting throats than an awkwardly large and heavy sword.

Tino held his breath, watching as, urged by his Chieftain, the Slavic sniffed his nose once into the air before he tried to make a grab for Peter - the child screaming shrilly as he smashed his face against Tino's robes, Mathias shouting for the stranger to make way - stand down or be flayed to pieces by his teeth alone.

Ivan only chuckled in the background underneath the shimmering aspens, delighting himself in this little show of entertainment - of the cornered lion and wolves about to have their eyes pecked out by the merciless birds of prey.

But amidst the confusion that seeped into their heads, of the wails and threats that stopped the beating of the heart, the heated screams, of the shrill laughter from the Slavic's - Mathias heard a sound, soft and instant seep into his ears amidst all the horror that was crashing down upon them.

The Dane turned his head slowly behind him, brushing his lips against Nikolas's ears as he did before his eyes, blue and shining caught a sight that assured him that the Gods had not left them to die a cowards death.

Hunkered down, against a scraggly patch of swamp saw grass and willow branches green sat a few of his men - those who had escaped being sacrificed to blade and arrow - those who hid but did not leave, who still awaited orders from their Lord in charge. Those who were willing to place life on limb to protect those who they had sworn to serve loyally by their own swords.

"_Our men, they still live_…" Mathias whispered smilingly to Nikolas against his cheek, eyes flickering over to the shapes in the grass and trees - of the hopeful smiles that danced to the Lady Wolf with promise of triumph, of victory from death and entrapment.

Of an escape.

Nikolas felt the breath in his throat catch - his nostrils flaring as he looked back to his soon-to-be-husband. Then, quicker than a sparrow taking flight, a thought graced his mind oh so sweetly.

With a shallow smile Nikolas took a deep breath, scraping his little brothers hold from his neck as he passed him to Mathias, the Dane kissing the child atop his head and latching the chubby fingers to the scruff of his tunic.

The Southern Wolves Leader never strayed his eyes from his beloved who as so courageous and strong. He knew what Nikolas was about to do, was about to risk in an attempt to save all of their lives.

Soft leather feet, quieter than a doe picking her way through glen and copse, stepped away from the safely of the hovel, away from kin packed tightly against each other in a barricade of flesh and fear and heart.

He stepped away and he stood, chin raised high, eyes cold and challenging - the Bride of the Wolves now a wolf himself. Bared and vengeful.

"_Nikolas!_" Tino hissed suddenly with fright, trying feebly to claw at his cousins dragging robes, to bring him back to him, into the netting of his arms and into the crook of his neck.

To not lose him to rabid hunters who would tear him to shreds.

The Finn was ignored, not even a flicker of concentration ebbed away from Nikolas' eyes as the blonde Norwegian shifted his step lightly to a nearby bush - swollen rowan berries dripping to the ground like a curtain of red dew from splayed silky leaves.

But before Ivan, mesmerized by this turn of strange events, could unleash another command of his men howling and snarling at the huddle of prisoners before them, Nikolas swayed rigid.

The silence that encroached Nikolas was soon gone as his hands ran themselves over the thick branches of the trees, using his thumb and fingers to fist a branch into his hand before he snapped it off, the green foliage scenting his fingers sharply - -juice speckling his palm a watery red.

With determination in his eyes, the Norwegian then spat at the ground with pure hate in his movements, with a wicked gleam in his eye before he stabbed the rowan branch into the soft ground. Fingers that curved and bent, then drew a circle of wrath and power around the Scandinavians huddled and heaving against one another with shaky breaths and menacing glares. Their tears had almost dried from their faces that gleamed red.

After the circle was cast Nikolas stood still before the gasping Slavic's, a smile that grinned like a wolf seeped over his lips.

"Come any closer and you will be wrought with death upon you - your bones will be stripped clean from your body and your eyes will boil." Nikolas snarled, pointing the stick at the men who took careful steps backwards, some ever grabbing at the pommels of their saddles to steer themselves away from the taste of power now hinting the air.

All of their eyes grew wide and scared, like the little children they were in the face of a terrible snorting and fire breathing dragon. For they knew enough of their enemies language to understand that the way Nikolas spoke meant he was wise in the ways of curses, of tricks and spells.

They would have none of such a threat to their lives, and so with steps that stole into the earth they began to sway away from Nikolas', away from those icy blue eyes that swam like the rage of the ocean and seas.

That was until, Ivan spoke.

"Come men, do not fear the witch. Draw your swords." He commanded with a tickle of amusement in his throat, eyes smiling and lighting up, awakening after what was previous boredom.

Things were now growing interesting for the Slavic Chieftain

"Well, go on then." The silver haired man urged again, his eyes lazy as he motioned for his men to continue with their task of slitting throats, no matter what danger had now presented itself.

Nikolas only smiled wider, the rowan branch in his hand an ever present reminder of what Nikolas was, what he knew, what he could do.

The Russians men trembled at the thought.

Yet, most of them, the smart ones, feared the wrath and anger of their leader more than foreign curses. So, with eyes wet and wild and hearts that beat with the speed of cowardice rabbits, they began to advance slowly.

Mumbled words spoken under breath, lips curled over teeth and hands jingling sword sheaths to ward of the evil spirits that they were sure the Norwegian had conjured - yet still, they advanced.

One of the men out of the pack, with startled eyes so very much like a freshly broken in yearling, looked down at the circle with fright and unspeakable anguish. The soft indents of the dirt, the scattering of pine needles visible to his wet eyes.

But still he became the first out of them all to reach the curved line that seemed to glow with the trickery of the slowing sun.

He swallowed hard, spit dampening his throat as he looked up with gleaming eyes to Nikolas who only returned the soldiers look of impending doom with a smile all his own. A Challenge to advance, to keep moving forward to his death.

Hands poised, pinky and index finger pointed to the mans skull, the rest of his fingers touching his thumb in a gesture used well.* The starting of the curse.

The warrior, stubby in stature with a leather cap snug atop his head, only hesitated for a mere few seconds before he took a small a small step closer, feet almost touching the line that seemed to bare it's teeth at him like a hungry wolf.

Nikolas snickered maddeningly, his head thrown back.

It was a hidden signal - the sound of his cawing laughter like that of a hacking crow - a signal for Mathias' part to now come into view - like a strategic game of chess, the King was now on the playing board.

From behind the Norwegian, Mathias shook his head lightly up and down, unseen entirely by the Slavic's cowering before Nikolas, yet visible to the few soldiers hunched in the grass and bushes behind the small party of the Chieftains family.

At the movement from their leader in command, the men fumbled at the ground before them. Fingers began digging up small rocks and pebbles into their palms, hands working at the leather straps of their slings until each Swede and Dane had raised his hand above his head, awaiting the signal to let the weapons fly into the air like arrows bent on destruction.

Then, snapping his mouth shut from his giggled laughter, Nikolas gleamed down at the soldier who was now closer than ever to sinking his feet against the line of power.

_Just one…_

_more… _

_Step…._

The leather clad foot pressed against the drawn line of soil and rock, of berry and leaf with a crunch.

Then, the sky began to rain.

…**.**

**Okay, don't get pissy. This chapter would have been so much freaking longer believe me - I had to split it into two parts, okay? Lucky for you though that means you'll get the next chapter faster - I promise! So, think their little magic plan will work? It might, might not. Tune in next time to find out! AND REVIEWS WOULD BE LOVELY! **

…

**Authors Notes:**

**- **Hands poised, pinky and index finger pointed to the mans skull, the rest of his fingers touching his thumb in a gesture used well.* **- I have no clue if this is true, but I was watching a Polish Folk film and the woman did this to trick men into staying away from her. (Movie, **Stara baśń**)**


	25. A Knife That Bites

**Welcome to the next chapter of Barbarians Healer! I hope you enjoyed the last, suspense and all that it was! I'd like to thank **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen** for being my excellent Translators! Much love to you, wonderful friends! Also a extremely grateful thank you to **I eat souls for breakfast**, who I will call upon to aid me soon! **I do not own Hetalia but I do own this story! **For this chapter I recommend listening to the song **Älvornas Dansar **by** Fejd.

…

"It is _done!_" Nikolas screamed with a joyous laugh as stones and pebbles fell like drops of stars from the sky that shone a perfect blue against the horizon. The sound of the small boulders shook the ground at they smacked hard atop beast and man alike - shying both into submission and wild fear that coursed through their veins.

Magic was in the air, they could feel it.

The first one to be struck down by the pelted moss colored stones was the man who had first approached Nikolas with soured breath and menace - the man, leather cap lolled to the floor, was clutching his sore pink head with his hands. He was whining and howling like a dog who had just been beaten into obedience, cowering into the moldy pine needles at the floor.

Nikolas sneered down at him for a mere few seconds before he threw the rowan branch to the ground, watching with delight as the horses around him began to buck and skid, their eyes rolling to show white, tongues hacking against bits as they shrieked something awful.

It was music to the Norwegians ears. The chaos he had created, the danger he had wrought against those that would do more harm to his family. Revenge coursing through his veins tight and hot in his blood. It felt wonderful.

But his love of this moment was soon cut short, severed by the knife of a Slavic as Ivan began to roar out commands, backing his horse up skillfully with his hands, pressure placed on the reins.

"Steady! Stay Steady, damn you!" He snarled, his own mount frothing at the mouth as the saddle hoops jingled and sang, his voice a roar below the mountains that shook from the breath of man and beast alike.

But no command could hope to calm his men and their horses, so steeped in superstition that they were, they began to scream from fright as pebbles no bigger than their thumbs struck them atop their temples and snagged along their horses legs - some of the stones bigger and shattered heavy bones in their wake. _Crack, Thwak, Shk!_

Then, all control was lost to Ivan as Mathias, leader of the Danes, stood up from his crouched and cowardice stance from before to rise like a great grey wolf, teeth snarling and biting as he brought his fingers to his lips and blew. A shrill noise burst forth from his mouth, a whistle of wind and rain and storms that reeled in the enemies horses ears and caused their heads to shake and their knees to wobble and buckle.

The animals that were not held tight by hand or rope - bolted forth and were lost to the woods, the trampling of their hooves would echo along the cave walls for days.

The Slavic's, so it would seem, had been bested - yet not for long.

Not taking a second to revel in the glory of their wits and ability, Mathias scooped up his son, Tino doing the same with Peter before all five of them began a hasty retreat into the saw grass that cut and ripped at their arms and legs, burning their skin with stinging nettles before they could barely even see their eyes were so blurred with pain.

They couldn't have been running long - a few minutes or so before they heard feet and hoof a few paces behind them, the roaring sounds of anger and embarrassment tickling their ears red.

Their own soldiers, Dane and Swede had caught up to them and were flanked upon them on either side, some shooting arrows of bone blindly into the thicket, others to pause to hack at forest thrush so that Mathias and Tino could better carry their precious cargo ahead and away from danger.

But a few minutes of stumbling, of wheezing and trembling, could only get them so far.

For soon, they were blocked by the walls of shields tinted high with metal, wood, bone and leather - fearsome birds with black eyes and yellow beaks, with red fluttering bodies approached them from all sides, all corners.

Men barked and growled, their faces welted slightly from the rocks that were thrown out at them, cheeks red from aggravation at falling for such a petty trick of a witch.

Aggravation for the whole lot.

Tino felt his face grow pale, breath dying in his throat as he watched the oval shields advance and smooth out any escape route - the brush around them thorny and impassable. The trees too high to climb, the slopes at their backs too steep to roll down.

They were trapped once more, at the mercy of the phoenix's wrath and rage.

The Nordic party didn't even flinch as ropes were lassoed over them, woven from flax and willow - knots held tight against them as arms were bound before the great broad trucks of pine, their faces shaded by dust and the leaves of the yew.

Like ragged dolls they were, huddled tight by corded leather and rope, knees pressed into the dirt that smelled musty and much too rich. It made their noses sting.

"Make sure they are tied nice and snug. We shall not want them to get any ideas about escape, yes?" Ivan's voice purred over the captives, Tino's own teeth grounding painfully against each other as he fought off the urge to spit at the Slavic's groomed leather boots.

However, it was when Ivan tilted his head, cheeks slightly a blush from barking and yelling out orders from before, that Tino wished he had his knife to gut him like a freshly caught fish - still alive and very much conscious.

Because, at that moment, Ivan seemed to remember who and what he was dealing with. "Also, to protect us from further…insult…." Ivan smiled softly, quietly, "Cut out the witches tongue."

Nikolas' face grew white, his pretty blue eyes looking watery and dirty as tears streamed slowly over his cheeks and chin. He opened his mouth to protest with anger but not a word came out, his lungs too starved from shock. He could not even speak.

However, Mathias could.

"_What?!_" The Dane hissed, his own gaze not much better, heated and fiery like the sun, but as pale as the white snow before December reached it's end.

Ivan sighed in a manner that almost showed that he was regretful of his words, but yet still he said them, if soft toned hushes as if trying to explain to Mathias that all was well, everything was fine.

"Well, what would you have me do? We cannot have incantations to do us harm floating in the air!" His lips curled upward in a soft grin, hands folding themselves over his stomach.

"He might not even die from it - though he most likely will. Blood loss is quiet common these days, I'm afraid." He shrugged, causing Mathias to bristle with rage, his bared mouth showing his teeth to the Slavic Chieftain as he screamed out his protest.

"You would not dare!" He yelled, warned as he pressed his shoulder closer to Nikolas, the Norwegian sobbing softly, hiccups of breath that he tried to wipe away on his shoulder, face bent to the ground, eyes vacant of all fire that it once held.

Ivan did not respond, did not care to look at either man, stamping out any inklings of mercy he might have for the pair of lovers.

Instead, he motioned with a soft swipe of his hand to a nearby general, decorated finely in a gold torch and a red leather cap studded with chain mail at it's ends.

With a flicker of his pale wrist, Ivan commanded the death of the Norwegian, the witch, the Bride of the wolves.

Like an animal led out to slaughter to be put out of it's misery.

At the sound of a dagger being unsheathed from a flake of wood and leather, Nikolas finally threw his head back and wailed shortly, his eyes vacantly open as he looked upward and over the trees, mouth swallowing as words came to him in a rush.

"Lo! I See my mother! Lo! I see my father!"* he screamed, and sobbed, cries rushing forth from his mouth spoken raw.

"Nikolas! Don't - don't you dare say those words!" Mathias warned his lover, barked at him with distress as he tried to nuzzle the cheek of his beloved, the Norwegians hot tears warming his face so sadly.

Yet Nikolas would not be deterred, he began to rock back and forth, stuttering with sadness and sorrow as his mind raced and his lips shook pale and pink.

"Lo, they do call to me. They bid me to take my place among them, in the halls of Valhalla!" His eyes were growing wider and wider, fear trying it's very best to ensnare him in it's icy chill.

"Nikolas, my love! My sweet! Please!" Mathias cried, pressing his cheek to his husbands shoulders and neck, kissing at his skin, murmuring words of courage, to stop speaking, stop seeing, stop crying.

But he would not stop.

Onward the Slavic general descended, like a hawk with shining gold feathers come to pick clean at the downed animals carcass, to feel the blood swash heavily over his talons in a sea of salt. And onward Nikolas cried and chanted the prayer of a sacrificial death.

His brother, his son, Björt wailed and crooned till snot ran from his nose and his pink gums grew to biting at his lips. He cried Nikolas' name, and only his name.

Tino too began to feel his eyes water as he begged for his captures to take mercy upon them, instead of such a painful death, instead of such excruciating torture, just slit his throat - all their throats to be slit instead so that they may not be forced to see and watch such travesty. To feel it sink painfully into their hearts until they too were laid to rest violently.

A strangers hand came to grip at Nikolas' chin, tears staining it wet and warm as fingers pressed none too gently to open that mouth that held inside enchantments and hex's and curses - yet none did the Norwegian speak, ready for the slaughter was he. The Gods had decided this was the ripe time for him to be plucked from the tree of life and descend into Hel. He would go with courage, he would die like a warrior.

"Take me to the halls of Valhalla - where the brave may life forever! Take me!" He screeched at his executioner as the knife was laid under his tongue, the blade tasting foul and bitter and metallic, or perhaps that was his own blood being spilt. The Norwegian did not know.

"Stop! No!" Mathias grappled and tugged at the binds at his side, wrenching his neck painfully against the elbow of the strange man who would slit Nikolas' body to pieces.

"Take me instead - I am the Danish Chieftain! My tongue - my head - slaughter me, not him!" Mathias thrashed, his voice great and booming as his rang in the generals ears, startling him some so the knifes blade was laid against Nikolas' cheek instead of the inside of his mouth where he was sure his life would be then severed.

At the cool touch of the blade to his skin and not his tongue Nikolas sighed chokingly, a dry upheaval of breath that helped him to remain absolutely still lest his face be shaved off.

But before Mathias could beg again, for him to take his place, Tino felt his heart beat furiously in his chest before he open his mouth to shout out the words he knew he could never regret - not if could save the lives of the people he loved the most.

Even at the cost of his own life.

"Ivan, Lord of Slavic's - I beg, I plead - spare them!" Tino shouted with insistence as his cool amethyst eyes gazed into plum, the Slavic's gaze surprised at his outburst.

"Oh? And why should I spare them, little lion?" He cooed, a finger coming to rest underneath his chin as he pondered this turn of events that, if handled correctly, could topple down an entire empire and provide him with enough entertainment just before supper.

"Because," Tino furrowed his brow in scathing submission, "I wish to take my cousins place in execution."

Long silver lashes blinked back astonishment before a curved smile could take it's place upon the Slavic leaders fine lips.

"Is that so?" He asked, mouth parted in happiness. Like a cat that had just come upon a trapped mouse.

Tino swallowed thickly but nodded, feeling his shaking body forsake his once courageous stance. He was slowly slipping, slowly breaking at the prospect of dying in this instant, at this very moment before his family, his loved ones. Yet it was better he die first, in his own selfish way than to watch them each one by one die by cruelly.

Yes. He was doing this for selfish reasons mostly.

"It is." He bit his lip and nodded stiffly again in assurance.

"Mamma…?" Peter sniffled beside him, mouth hung open as he gazed as his parent, the first inklings of betrayal peppering his little delicate face. Betrayal that he didn't understand. He could not fathom why his mother wanted to leave him so, why his protector would abandon him at such a point in his life.

"Honey, I am so sorry - but if this will buy you all more time… And…And I cannot bare to…Oh, my baby…" The words shook as they tumbled over his lips, as he tried to compose himself as best as he could. As best as the moment allowed for.

"Tino…" Nikolas stuttered, his body quaking, not believing what he was hearing. That his younger baby cousin would give up his life first. The child who he had watched grow up sweetly, the short little blonde who was always crying and fighting and laughing was choosing to die. The little boy who was always crying, fighting and laughing. Nothing else but that.

Nikolas felt his eyes bleed water, his gaze rimmed red with sorrow and sadness. Next to him, somber, was Mathias - surprisingly silent for once.

Even the men, their men who had their faces pressed to the ground after being capture and restrained by rope and blade of knife, sobbed quietly into the dirt. They could not help but weep - could not help but pray to the Gods for quick mercy for those who were about to die today.

It was Ivan's eyes and pearly teeth peeking from behind his lips that broke the tears from their own gaze.

Ivan breathed in the warm late summer air, feeling the freshest hints of fall fill his nose. Of leaves dried into a fine powder at their feet, of the musky smell of animals dying and being killed in the distance as food for predators, of the early autumn frost creeping over everything in sight, chilling white spider webs upon the dew.

He smiled and breathed in deeply, gaze catching burnt purple once more.

"Yes. I have changed my mind. The witch may keep his tongue."

The Nordics shoulders slumped with mild thankfulness, soft murmurs of praise paid to the Gods as they began to breath more easily, tears drying slightly upon their faces. That is, until those next soft curved words formed from Ivan's throat, accented with blood and mirth. A combination so sickly it made Tino's face flush with horror and nausea.

"I want his instead." He gestured to Tino with a slim pointed finger adorned with jewels much like the ones Mathias and Nikolas wore. They only gleamed just a tad bit brighter.

Within an instant three men, one to cut him free, the other two to drag him fell upon the Finnish man like great bronze swooping birds until Tino was left screaming and thrashing against the fleshy arms that gripped him tight and threw him to the ground before the Russian Prince, the Lord of Slavic's, the master of a birds flame.

Ivan the Terrible.

Witnessing such a thing, of his mother being treated less than a slave Peter began to wail and cry for his Mamma, only to be quickly gagged by rough cloth and smacked across the face - the corners of his mouth red from the burns and cheeks slightly purple.

"Now, Men. We do not harm children, what have I always said, Yes?" Ivan lightly scolded his men before he turned back to the Finn at his feet, Tino catching his breath painfully as he resisted against the hands at his back and neck, trying to break free to comfort his child, to coddle the freckled boy. To tell him all would be well when he knew easily in his heart - this was the end of the Barbarians Healer and his little makeshift family that he had come to love so sweetly.

"I am truly sorry for their behavior, young Finn. But my men are restless and not the best at controlling their anger." Ivan tilted his head as he smiled, his pretty violet eyes deceivingly cheery as he lightly took Tino by the forearm, shying off the other men who backed away slowly, eyes floored to the ground in obedience.

"I excepted nothing less of Slavic's." Tino spat at the ground, barely missing the deep rich brown of Ivan's ridding boots.

The Russian nodded swiftly, rolling his tongue behind his teeth before his whole face fell, the edges turning softer and sadder, sullen to the touch.

It caught Tino off guard, like a deer caught in the blind sight of an arrow before it is released.

"I wish it hadn't come to this. I really do hate putting on a show, and you do really seem like a lovely person." He sighed quietly, only for Tino's ears, his tone regrettable before he pulled back and a grin quickly flashed back over his features, wicked and menacing.

And entirely fake - yet only Tino could tell from his spot before him, utterly confused beyond belief. The words sounding less and less planned, more real and straightforward than ever and it suddenly made Tino angry, quiet angry in fact that he tried to yank himself out of the iron tight grip of Ivan's arm. Yet, unable to break free, he settled for snarling like a caged animal instead.

"Do not act like you feel Mercy for me. Do not act like you care. We are the spoils of war. So reap your reward, coward." He spit, this time the saliva peppering across Ivan's face like little drops of dew.

The Russian, wiping his face with one quick stroke with his free hand, then brought the same hand across Tino's face in a brutal slap that rang clear across the copse of trees that stood a silent vigil for the trapped Norsemen.

Everyone flinched. Nikolas wailed, the Soldiers moaned, Mathias raged and the children wailed.

Tino did not cry nor seethe nor beg. He fell with the hit, bringing his hand to his cheek as he steadied his other against the cracking bark of an ash tree, a sacred tree like the one of Yggdrasil, it's roots and limbs bubbling up to the heavens and down to Hel bellow. It would be a fitting place to die.

But apparently Ivan had another idea, swimming with vengeance that he was.

Fingers cold and hard yanked at Tino's knotted amour that was already specked with the Russians Kinsman blood, causing rage to boil within him even greater, like a cauldron set to fire.

And with that anger came action as swift as a ravens talon.

A short and stout dagger was soon unsheathed, the handle of bone, delicate carvings of horses and birds and ferns delighting it's pommel. Yet the blade still shined laughingly at the Finn, who could only swallow at it's fearful beauty.

Gripping then at his hair Ivan hugged the Finnish man to his chest, Tino's back to the bronze plaiting of the Prince's strong chest - the cool metal reminding the Finn of what was to come.

His neck was then strained, presented to the sky as a silent offering to those who watched upwards, those who demanded whomever's blood - it did not matter. The Gods and Goddess of war, who delighted in any carnage. Tino was ready to grace them with his greatest gift. His life.

Beside him, around him he could hear the sobs of his countrymen, of his family and friends. Like a roaring waterfall against his ears, it was hazy and yet so clear, the sobs. He did his best to ignore them.

"It is a pity to kill you - all of you. The pretty little Lioness with fire, the lovely Elk with tricks, and the strong proud Wolf with venom. Shall be an even greater pity to kill the pups." Ivan murmured slowly, holding the Finn's chin up delicately with his fingers, the blade nestled nice and tight against his throat, his pulse fluttering rapidly against the metal.

The Russians words could not longer affect him, so afraid yet so calm was he.

Like nothing mattered any more. He would die for love, the love of his kin, of his family - of Peter and Berwald. He would make them proud by dying with courage for what else could he do but to lay his life down regally with fight still swimming in his veins to prove to Ivan that he was strong?

He would die like a Damen Lejon.

"But that is war. Ashamed of either side, I am, yes. But that is war." Ivan sighed as he pricked the point to the skin, a small pearly drop of red coiling at it's edges. Tino hissed through his lips, eyes fluttering as he dared not to move to make the cut worse.

He could still hear his men, damning the Russians to an eternity of slaughter, of melted out eyes and peeling skin, of bones being chewed by dragons and pissed on by dogs.

He could hear his family wail and struggle against their binds. He could hear it all.

And so, Tino, forgetting where he was, who he was - began to fight back.

His mouth ripped open a shattering cry as he tried to push the knife from Ivan's hands, neck craning backwards to miss the stinging blade only to have the Russian pull him back roughly and grip his arms behind his back in a bony grip.

For struggle had only fueled Ivan's purpose for hurt and harm as regrettable as he found it. And so the knife bit softly, teasingly against the Finnish mans shoulders, his collar bone scarred with two strips of raw red that would leave scars for the rest of his life. Ugly marks of remembrance.

Tino felt white hot pain grip him as he shook, tears falling freely as the pain was just too much. And yet in continued, the knife dragging shallowly back to his throat, barely leaving a prick on his throat till Ivan was steady and ready.

"Now, now - let's not make this difficult. Sit still or the knife will hurt." Ivan chastised. He wanted the Finn calm - to die quickly. It was the best gift he could give to his enemies Bride. A wedding present of sorts.

Tino shut his eyes tight, resulting in him not being able to see Mathias, wet eyes and all shielded his body over Peter's so that the freckled child, no matter how hard and heatedly he screamed, would not be able to watch his mother die. Nikolas himself tucking his body over his little brother, his eyes so very fearful as they could not tear themselves away from the sight of his cousins soon to be death.

"Such smooth skin, like the moon, yes? Well - it shall be as red as the sun when the knife kisses your throat." Ivan stared at the milky white skin, the thin strips of red a reminder of what was to come.

_He is __deranged_, Tino thought suddenly with sickness, _like a cat playing with the sparrow it has caught before devouring it._

But not long Tino's thoughts soon escaped him as the knife flared up again to press against his pulse. Tino cried out with sudden pain as a thin scratched plumed red along his flesh. Deeper…Deeper…Deeper.

_I am going to die. _He thought with pity before he felt some whisper against his ear, a soft breath of the wind tickling his cheek before he heard the heavy sink of an arrow right by his eyesight.

An arrow, an arrow long and comforting wedged against the scarf of Ivan the terrible, right near his neck yet unpinned in the flesh. A warning flare against the Russian's own head.

Ivan froze, Tino quieting his sobs as the forest grew deadly silent all around him.

Suddenly and without warning, half of the Russian soldiers slumped dead, falling to the floor into the mud with gurgles and half screams as swords are pulled from their still warm bodies - the faces of friendly and triumphant Swedes and Danes behind the corpses.

A surprise attack sought in silence.

The rest of the men still alive, the Nordics own kin were then cut free with jagged flint and knife. Wrists were rubbed free of bruises and hands were clasped in gratitude. Before long every captured man of the Northern and Southern tribes was free. And every spare Russian soldier besides Ivan the Terrible, lay dead on the ground, fodder for the crows.

Because, standing before Ivan, bow and arrow aimed rightly at his silver tipped head, stood Berwald Oxenstierna, Leader of the Northern Lions Tribe and Husband to the Damen Lejon.

Ivan grinned.

"N'xt t'me I won't m'ss..." Berwald growled out, his two fingers plucked along the shaft of the arrow, ready to strike.

"Berwald…" Tino barely whispered before his throat began to throb, paining him to even breathe as his fingers clambered up his neck to feel thin strips of blood.

"Tino, don't try an' talk." Berwald ordered, the Swede's careful glare set upon the Russians lovely smiling features, knife still poised threatening against the Finn's neck.

"Oh, it is the leader of the Swedes, yes? Here to rescue your ramshackle family?" Ivan smirked, tugging Tino upward and into his arms, knife ever glinting with red, feeding off of the blood like some silver serpent of the earth.

Berwald shivered.

"Let him go." The Swede demanded then, eyes growling hard as his fingers, stubbed with dirt and carnage began to itch themselves to weaken, to let the arrow fly loose into the Russians skull - to which he would later hollow out the cranium and use as a drinking cup. The spoils of war as it were.

"I do not think I want to." Ivan tittered childishly, pressing the dagger slanted tighter to the Finn's neck. Tino dared not breath any longer. Nor did he dare to move or stutter with words. He knew if he did, if he made any break to lurch away, the knife would surely find it's mark.

Berwald stiffened.

"However, I will agree to a proposition. You let me go free to my camp, I return your bride unharmed," Ivan looked to Tino and then laughed sadly, "Well - at least partly unharmed."

Berwald growled, feeling Mathias himself snarl behind him, the Dane and his Norwegian Lover pressing the two sobbing children close to them like protective barriers, wishing no more bloodshed in this already carnage soaked forest.

But Berwald sighed, gazing his jade eyes to the Finn who, through a watery glance, seemed to smile softly at Berwald with hope and love.

It is not your fault. Tino seemed to say with his eyes, those lovely eyes.

Berwald felt his heart beat rise and his throat grow dry with each passing breath as the decision loomed in the air.

Finally, he sighed.

"Fine. Let 'em go and you will ride off free." He snapped out tiredly, the arrow still raised, still as threatening as the knife.

Ivan nodded swiftly in agreement, loosening his hold on the knife and the Finn, causing Tino to whimper as the painful grip on his arm was finally growing lax.

That was how Tino found himself being dragged to a horse, Ivan's hand still on his arm, knife aimed to his heart until the Russian was safely on his great big mount, Tino's legs feeling weaker by the minute next to the giant animal.

"Now release 'em!" Berwald snarled like a lion ready to rip another animals throat out, his own body tensing up and winding itself all over again.

"Aye, I am letting go. But first…" Ivan smiled wickedly to the Swede, a glint in his eye.

"Come out from your den little lion, when you really want to play with the big monsters..." Ivan sneered to Berwald, his teeth grinning like the jowls of a wild bear as he threw Tino away from him and his horse, the Finn nearly falling to the cold floor if not for Berwald grasping him tight and hugging him to his chest.

By the time the Swedish Chieftain looked up from where he sat crouched with his injured beloved in his arms, Ivan was already gone, in a whirl of dust trailed by his horse.

Ivan the Terrible, had fled.

…

Tino closed his eyes shut and let out another shuddering sob that wracked his whole body, fluttering his fingers to his throat, as his hands came back watery and red.

The scars were not too deep but not thin either, Nikolas had said at that moment, bolting forward to tend to his injured cousin who was wheezing and breathing heavily. Blood stained the collar of his tunic, deep into his armor that had to be removed it was so tight - restricting the Finnish mans breathing.

"If we do not get him to the camp soon, he will die of blood loss." Nikolas said as he ripped a strip of linen from his robe's sash and wrapped it snug against the Finn's neck - the press of the coarse cloth hurting him blinding. He began to claw at the air and moan pitifully.

Berwald nodded wearily, swiping his thumb across his lovers forehead as sweat collected and dripped down from the Finn's face. As his cheeks grew clammy and his body enflamed.

Gathering up the light man in his cloak, Berwald, wordlessly sat the Finn atop the Swede's horse, the bay perking her ears curiously at her master before she simply snorted softly into his shoulder as he wrapped the reins around her pommel.

Then, still silent, silent as stone, Berwald, the father, the warrior, the husband, gathered up his sniveling and wailing child in his arms and sat him behind his Mamma. He gripped the childs soft soft hands and wrapped them around Tino's waist, the Finn sighing softly, a small smile dipped upon his face before it was wiped away with pain and fatigue.

Then, with a slowly slipping mask of coldness, Berwald raised himself atop one of the Slavic's horses that had neither spooked nor became slaughtered in the chaos. Righting the reins and squeezing the horse softly in the stomach Berwald set the two animals to riding, clutching his own mares lead with his squeezed fist.

"Keep his head up as high as you can, Peter. Or else he will start to loose consciousness." Nikolas murmured to the little British boy, the small child sniffing but did as he was told, trying his best to get his Mother to stop leaning forward or back to much, but perfectly still.

The ride back, Mathias, Nikolas and their child riding to the aid of the scattered people all around the mountain to bring them back home was wrought with silence as they bade farewell to the Swede and his family. As they promised they will meet them later before the sun sets in the now gloomy sky.

The journey back was silent for the party of three, the clops of the horses hooves along stone and sand and dirt the only noise for the longest time before, with a pained whisper, Berwald finally let his first tears fall.

"_I promise my love, my sweet - I will never be late to your aid again. Never." _

…**..**

**Oh wow, am I a dick or what?! Sorry about Ivan, I tried to portray him as regrettable as I could, because really he is a swell guy and I hate that I always make him out to be the enemy. Well, that wasn't too bad - was it? Was it? Review and tell me what you think!**

…

**Authors Notes: **

-"Lo! I See my mother! Lo! I see my father!"* **- This is supposedly an old Viking prayer for victims of sacrifice or those who are about to die in battle - or who are just plain about to die. There are recorded instances of it being said by a slave girl who is about to be sacrificed and laid to death with her dead master in, Adam of Bremen's eyewitness account in 1070 in Old Uppsala where he describes the funerary preparations of a dead Chieftain. **


	26. This Was Never Your Fault

**Hello and Welcome to the next chapter of Barbarians Healer - I hope the last wasn't too um…bloody, for you! Anyway, I'd like to thank my marvelous translators, **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**, Thank you so much you beauties! **I do not own Hetalia but I do own this story! **For this chapter I recommend listening to the song **Bed för din Själ **by** Fejd.

**Now! Onward to the story!**

…

The Finn's face was ghostly white, like that of a fishes belly. His lips were pale pink like that of a tulips first bloom and Peter, who feared for the very life of his Mamma, softly began to whisper little prayers and blessings in English into his Mothers shoulder blades as he pressed tightly to the warmed body of the Finn.

"Lady Sirona, she who commands healing by her watery springs, please - let not my Mamma be taken by the soil nor flame. Please."* Peter sobbed softly, clutching ever tightly as he felt Tino slip some in his grasp, head lolling forward dangerously as drops of blood began to drip from the soaked cloth at his neck. The cloth was so burdened down by the red running liquid that prickled warmly. His horses bay coat began to grow slick and black with the very substance.

Peter scrambled with hurried hands to right the Finn to sit up again, begging Tino to please hold on, hold on and help will find us. We will be back home, in tents fueled warm with crackling pine fires, mead down our throats and gruel in our bellies. We will be warm and safe and happy.

"Oh please, Mother, please." The little child begged, curling his fists into the edges of Tino's tunic as he cried.

The Finn barely stirred.

…

The war camp was eerily silent when they reached it's crooked gates and latches, all shaved clean and nice and manned by the few soldiers that had come out mostly unscathed through the massacre. Though bandaged they were, no leg nor limb was lost to them, and they could still see outward. Not like the many others who had been cruelly blinded and left to crawl among corpses of horse and men.

And of the horses, Tino could smell but not see. Muddied flanks slathered with manure and blood, the burning stench of their fur being bristled off, of the dead ones being hacked and quartered for salted meat - the remains burned black into the pits of a bonfire strikingly high and smelling rightly of burnt flesh.

Tino did not wish to open his eyes, knowing full well how badly it would pain his already breaking heart.

He was so wrecked with body and mind. Heart he feared, he could not bare.

And so they trudged on through mud slewed tents and dry grass that Tino recalled rather faintly smelled sweet in place of the moldy scent of death.

Death, everywhere.

They did not stop, they did not loll and dally to their tents perfumed with pine resin and juniper incense - smoke to carry away the scent of the dying and destruction.

Their horses moved vacantly over the earth as if in a funeral procession. Tino, who was too weak and nauseous to open his eyes could still very well imagine the horror-filled faces of the villagers, men, women, and children who looked upon his face and neck - seeing the red bright cloth upon his flesh. A sign of Slavic conquest on the fair skin of the Finnish Bride.

Wrecked and damaged by the atrocities of war.

And so, when the Finn was finally slipped from the big saddle of Berwald's horse and his child parted from him by the arms of handmaidens, Tino was so overcome from relief that he slumped into the body closest to him - his mournful husband, and fell into a deep deep sleep.

…

The smell of burning pine sap, of it's crackle finally had woken him up some time later - early in the evening when the sky was burnt a great bought of orange and the blue jays made their last caws into the air.

It was nearly twilight and he felt as if he had slept for days, curled and nestled in warm blankets, throat burning as he tried his best to breath and swallow - yet to swallow would do no good. Even spitting burned him like fire, eyes rolling back into his skull with each moan of pain and with each toss of his neck that wrecked him so.

But with Nikolas' cooling hand on his massaging and lovely, Tino bade stillness to overcome him, for his eyes to flutter open and the dazzle of candle lights to overtake him into the land of the living once more.

"Ni…Niko..las…" He chocked dryly, mouth filled with sand and flour and pebbles and sharp glass. It hurt, oh how it hurt.

"Shush, my dear Cousin, hush young one. Do not speak - only drink." He heard the Norwegian whisper over to him as the lip of a cup, finely blown from glass and smoothed to the touch was pressed to his mouth.

He drank heavily, the hot water tainted with honey sliding stiffly down his parched throat, his blood loss body soaking it up like a well gone dry for many seasons.

It wasn't long before he was begging for another cup, another drink or sip. Anything to wash the slate of dying off his tongue. No matter how much swallowing the liquid pained him.

"Nikolas… Will I die?" Tino breathed heavily, noticing that his head was propped up by three pillows stitched feathery with goose down. The smell of them, the smell of comfort washing over his cheeks and face and eyes. It was lovely and familiar at the same time.

It was what he needed.

Tino watched with lightly parted eyes as his cousin huffed, a small smile, shaky but there just the same, laughed.

"Dear cousin, you know as well as I that you are too stubborn to die." Nikolas pulled the third cup of water from the Finn's pale and weakened hands, setting it on the working bench at his side that had long since compiled many assortments of poultices and herbs.

Tino could only smile weakly and breathe delicately through his nose, noticing the thick and weighty sensation of bandages over his neck wrapped tight and secure.

"I have lathered the wounds with chewed yarrow to stop the bleeding - another couple of days and it should have fully crusted over. But do not pick at it - the scabs must be undisturbed or you shall heal no faster!" Nikolas warned, pressing soft and trained fingers over the edges of the bandages where the wounds first started.

Tino hissed in sudden pain, gripping at the woolen blankets over and underneath him with white knuckled hands.

Nikolas sighed with tiredness before he pulled his hands back, wiping them over the front of his trousers to clean them as best as he could.

"It was lucky for you Ivan was merely teasing when he was carving, any deeper and your throat would have been split…" Nikolas bit his lip, moving his hand to pet at the sweat dampened hair of his cousin, Tino sighing out with contentment at the touch.

"Tino… I wish, I wish to thank you - for taking my place so bravely. You really did save my life." The Norwegian whispered, his eyes misting over slightly as he wiped them absently.

Tino breathed in and out through his nose softly, stirring his eyes open to smile up at his older kin.

"It is nothing cousin. You are family and I love you." He breathed, lips curled into a sweet boyish smile that reminded Nikolas of better days gone by. Certainly not like these past weeks, filled with so much maddens.

Nikolas nodded shakily, a gentle hiccup of a sob at the back of his throat before Tino frowned chastising at him, teasingly.

"Dear Nikolas, do not weep over me - I am not dying, so do not bawl!" He chuckled lightly, clammy fingers coaxing themselves over Nikolas' shaking own. He squeezed them lightly, with all the strength he could muster and then some.

It was the gentle slither of the tent flaps being shaken and opened that alerted Nikolas to wipe his eyes free of red and tears, to straighten himself up and smile thinly like he should. Like a wise man and Bride of the Wolves should.

"My Lord, he will live. Though weak is he, death will not befall him." Nikolas spoke to whom Tino guessed was Berwald, as a great shadow fell over the Finn's face from his husbands height.

Tino tried to contain the laugh in his throat at the tallness of the man before it left him raw and pained.

He failed miserably.

"Berwald, my sweet, my husband dear - come, sit by me." Tino whispered hoarsely, resisting the urge to rip his bandages off like he desperately wanted to. He felt entirely fettered and lame, like a horse put out to pasture for being no good to anyone at all.

He felt broken and soiled.

He felt warm fingers soon grip him, rough calluses over palms and big hands encircling his.

Tino sighed with contentment at the touch, rolling his neck slightly to the edge of the bed where he saw Berwald sit, the giant hulking mass of the man coiled in on himself like a frightened child.

Tino frowned, moving his hand from underneath the Swede's to rest at his chest, feeling the sot thud of his heard against his fingertips.

It sounded as if the Swedes heart was breaking.

"Oh my love, do not feel sad. I am alive and fine…" Tino coughed suddenly, the movement enticing his lungs to burn like fire and his throat to sting more mockingly than a wasps bite.

He laughed shakily, breathlessly. "Well, at least I am alive."

Berwald's eyes never changed from their deep sullen stiffness - the flame in them all but extinguished. Tino cringed at those very eyes, so devoid of all happiness except for a quick slimmer of hope. But even that was barely noticeable.

"I've come ta' take ya' ta' rest." Berwald explained slowly, his accent seeping in worse than usual so Tino had to strain his aching ears to even hear the whisper of a voice so raw with hurt.

Tino nodded - only then realizing that that pinched at his bandages and hurt quiet immensely - he squeezed the Swede's shoulder lovingly before pushing on his elbows to sit up.

"Oh, not yet you don't." Nikolas chided Tino, propping up his pillows a bit so the Finn could sit up more but not be pushed out from the sides of the small medical cot.

Tino huffed with a pout before his heavy lidded eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"And why can I not…take my rest…elsewhere?" He asked with mild bewilderment at his cousin who wore the very stiff face of a medical doctor taking care o his patient.

"Because first you mush finish this entire bowl of steamed greens. Your blood level is low, water can only help so much. So - eat this all up, and then you may go take your much needed rest." Nikolas took a scrap of fine orange linen from the table beside him and laid it over Tino's lap. Then, cooling the mixture of warmed nettle and spinach sweetened with honey and finely ground nuts for added protein for the weaken state of the Finn, he left Tino to his meal.

After the more than rather bland meal was, with difficulty, passed through the Finn's lips and down into his aching stomach, Tino was excused from the sick room.

Wrapped up in a heavy woolen cloak that covered his night gowned self from prying village eyes, with fresh new bandages swathed over his silted wounds Tino was heaved up bridal style by the strong arms of Berwald.

"Now do not shake him much - he his still weak, as weak as a childs doll. If his wounds re-open, com get me immediately." Nikolas warned Berwald carefully just as the pair was pushing their way past the shifting curtains in the tent that smelled of cedar smoke and juniper berries crackling on top of coals.

Berwald only nodded solemnly, taking great care in cradling the Finn's weary body to his chest, Tino sighed softly into his shoulder as the pain within him ebbed and waxed, came and went.

Outside the Finn can smell the destruction, can see it with his own eyes, stark in front of him unmasked and horrid.

Men hobbling on feet wrapped tight with strips of stiff hide - arms that are broken attached to splints of wood to right the bone painfully and slowly.

Women, those who had not had their lives taken by Ivan's men fluttered about the place like shades and wreaths - hands moving over opened wounds and pressing bowls of warm gruel into hands as others worked to cook for the many hungry bellies that called out with gurgled. Somewhere off into the night a babe cried and kinsmen wept and wailed for those that were never coming home.

Tino wondered silently how many had died this day.

Yet once inside the tent Tino's thoughts are stolen from him as he gazes at the expectant eyes of his freckled child, curled up in a froth of blankets, eyes peeping over the covers.

Tino smiled weekly at the little lad, wincing only slightly as Berwald sets him down against the bed, blankets pulled back to quickly snuggle the Finn's hurting body.

"Mother…" Tino whispered softly in English, Tino barely making out the words before Peter softly, slowly because he knew his Mamma was still hurting, settled down against the Finn's chest.

"I prayed for you - I prayed to the Goddess of healing - the Goddess of back home." Peter murmured with half gibberish, messing his Swedish all up till Tino could only laugh and clutch at his child like he was a young babe coddled in his arms.

"Your prayers have been answered, my baby," Tino sucked in a bought of painful breath before he kissed the top of Peter's golden crowned head. "Now you must sleep. Sleep and dream of wonderful things."

Peter nodded and tucked his head against his mothers collar bone, sniffling once, twice, before he began to lull off to the soft whispered breathing of the Finn.

It didn't take long for the Finnish man to join his son in the land of Slumber.

And while they slept, Berwald's son and wife, the Swede was alone with his thoughts. So terribly alone.

Berwald then, mind working despite his lack of faith in his emotions, began to unbuckle his armor, the putrid smelling reindeer hide smelling like blood - another mans blood, another mans torment.

The rose coiled knots gave weigh under his trembling thick fingers, hands used to having someone help him with the giant ticks of bronze on his shoulder pads. Yet after a few quiet minutes he managed on his own, armor laid over the backing of a chair to keep the shape of his body - he would tend to the blood stains making the leather stiff later. Now was not the time.

He then got to work on the dirty rag of a tunic that was left graced over his shoulders flaking with dirt. Un-looping the twine that held the shirt together in front, Berwald scraped it off his sweaty body and threw it into the fire place in the middle of the room - watching at the cloth hissed with the additive of blood and sweat. The smell was something less pleasant to his nose so that he quickly lit a twisted bundle of evergreen bough - dried a creamy green color. It caught in the flames magnificently, enticing the room to it's crisp smoky scent. It did wonders to calm the warriors already flayed and flogged nerves.

Next, thinking that Tino would be none too happy with him rolling in their sheets as dirty and muddy as a boar, the Swede took a small washcloth and warm water to his face and neck, shoulders and back to clean of the added grim that coated his once pale body a dulled brown like those Roman men with their warrior bronzed flesh.

After the cloth, stained a deep brown with spots of purplish red from blood not his own, Berwald too, threw that cloth into the fire and watched it burn for a few minutes, not wanting his mind to run back to it's maddened place. The place that housed all his fears and secrets, that housed his worries and doubts.

He didn't need to think of that now - it would only kill him.

And so he slipped into a new flaxen tunic, the cloth feeling nice and warm and lighter than his armor. He tucked off his dirty boots and left them by the door before he pulled the giant beds covers back and sunk into the warmth that two bodies had already circulated within the blankets.

Then, with hands that shook only slightly, he nestled his way to the hunched body of the Finn who seemed, was already out like a light and hugging the sleeping body of Peter to him tenderly.

Only the first inklings of surprise grace the Swede's face when Tino rolls over softly and, eyes still very shut, clutches for the Swede with one hand, other still coiled around the body of Peter.

Berwald swallowed stiffly in his throat before he cuddled the Finn to his chest, feeling the first instance of tears soak his face since he was outside the Finnish mans medical tent, sent to wait outside for the verdict on Tino's health.

Berwald, feeling his throat tighten, began to awkwardly stroke the soft hair at Tino's head - a bit blonder from it's time in the sun. It sparkled like snow.

But then the Swede's eyes turned to wandering and Berwald saw things he wished he hadn't.

A purplish blotch at the corner of Tino's mouth was beginning to form, the edges of it yellowing, promising to not go away with in the course of the night. The bruise making it's home stark against the blood drained face of the Finn that seemed to sleep so soundly, so peacefully.

But his eyes kept wandering, to the edges of the bandages that were loosening, showing pink and red and slight purple at the edges - the markings of a dagger sliced along his neck, showing scars that would never disappear.

Tino would have those reminders of what happened today for the rest of his life.

Berwald felt his eyes blur painfully, the first onslaught of tears coming, dripping, wetting.

Then, his eyes that have betrayed him so, moved onward to his son, seeing the battered wrists of his child, from where Ivan's men had tied him stiffly to a tree. The rope burns looked like they hurt as they blushed into the boys pasty colored skin. Painfully red they were.

They looked like the gag marks on the childs mouth as well, tinted pink at the corners from where the cloth was wrapped tight and tied. It would have been even harder for the little lad to breath, so scare must he had been.

Berwald couldn't stop his fingers, fists, hands tightening against the covers of the bed, of feeling his knuckles turn white at the realization of what his family had just gone through.

And all for the victory of a falsely won battle.

Berwald cursed himself with hatred, feeling the tears prickle at the corner of his eyes again, the corner of his tunic sleeves already wet with them.

Then, giving out a quiet sob so as not to awaken Tino or Peter, Berwald leaned down to kiss each atop their heads, whispering "I love you"s and "You are safe now"s.

He only hopped they believed him and his words that hurt his heart so.

…

When Tino finally stirred awake, it was early morning, about four, judging from how the rooster bawled and crowed a fit from his post.

The Finn resisted the urge to plug his ears with the heaps of pillows underneath his throbbing head - wishing for the damn feathered bird to stop his cawing.

But the damage was done and Tino was wide awake now - the fire in the middle of the tent having gone out long ago, entreating the early morning chill to feast upon the cold of Tino's face, ears and nose.

He yawned quietly, carefully so as not to hurt his throat any more than necessary - the flesh between the scars feeling numb and fiery at the same time. A peculiar sensation that he hoped he would never have to experience again.

However, with eyes now awake, his gaze fell upon the face of Berwald, of his somber jade glance that filled Tino with remembrance.

How he got these scars, who they were from…

Who was too late to save him from pain.

Tino place d a soft smile over his face, banishing those thoughts from him forever. Instead, he cupped lightly at the Swede's face, eyes circled underneath with black smudges. The Swede had been up all night it seemed, just gazing vacantly at his wife and child.

Tormenting himself with a nights worth of hateful thoughts for himself.

Tino sighed and sat up, wrapping his robe that was draped over the post of his bed around him, his cheeks already tinted pink with cold - a good sign.

But it was even more trouble trying to forget those strange hands on him before - threateningly cool fingers holding the knife ever so close.

Tino shivered then, a frown coming over his face before he could even stop it - before he could even take it back.

But the damage was done.

In that instant Berwald threw himself from out the bed, his jaw clenched tight as he began to pace about the dirt floored room, his chilled feet sounding ghostly and not at all real.

Put the pain and hurt and anger in his face was real. That, Tino could see.

Tino sighed once more and gaze down at his child, his son stirring slightly from the cold of the morning, but still he slept. Tino knew his son would be lucky if he did not get nightmares.

"Ber...Berwald..." Tino mumbled his throat still raw and underused in such circumstances. But still he tried, tried to get his husband to look at him without sorrow.

It was not the Swede's fault.

But still the Swedish Viking paced tightly around the room, like an irksome stallion with too much tension in his muscles, with a bit pulled tight and fire in his eyes. Even at the soft and worried voice of his beloved, the Swede did not look up.

"Berwald..." Tino tried again, this time he cleared his throat to be better heard by the enthralled man.

It was then that Berwald stopped and slammed his fist against a table top - causing a clatter so great it caused the small white dog at the foot of the bed to whine and skid out the tent flaps.

Tino swallowed hard as he looked at the rage and wrath captured on his husbands face.

"I'll k'll 'em..." He growled out, like a lion lick his jaws at a potential threat.

Tino could only flinch, worrying over Peter who began to stir from his fathers commotion. The Finn, taking the young boy to his arms simply coddled him to his chest. He hushed Peter back into his dreams as best as he could, looking sorely at Berwald who felt like he would break down at any second.

Then, once the child is put back into the land of dreams, Tino silently slipped out from the side of the bed, wrapping the robe over his pale white and green long tunic for modesty's sake.

With shaking legs numbed by cold Tino made his way to his standing husband who was shaking with suppressed sobs and despair, the Finn cupping his chin with his hand to make him look at him, to gaze into his eyes.

Berwald resisted the urge to turn away.

"You did all that you could…You saved us…when we needed you…most. You did not fail me." Tino whispered gently, slowly as his voice crackled some.

"It feels as if ah' did - ah' should 'ave gotten there sooner, ah' should 'ave kicked th' damn horse till 'er legs fell off - ah' should 'ave been quicker -" Berwald began to babble, his voice growing thick as he dry heaved past a sob, shoulder shaking and hands coming to wrap around the Finn like a child at his mothers skirts.

Tino hushed him softly, a sweet smile on his face as he felt the wet tears stain his shoulders. He rubbed the Barbarians awkwardly bent back soothingly, earning himself a few mumbled words in Swedish mixed in with croons of sobs.

"Berwald, I am fine…Tired and weary and angry at Ivan…But fine just the same. You must let go of these doubts that eat you….You must prepare for the next battle." Tino whispered against the cheek of the man he had come to love, earning a sigh and clench of teeth.

Berwald nodded slowly, pulling back to gaze into the plum spiced colored eyes of his beloved Tino, his bride whom he had sworn to protect with his life and heart.

The man he was most loyal to.

"I will not leave you, Berwald." Tino assured the Swede with a soft peck to his lips.

"As long as I have breath in my lungs… I will never leave you." The Finn pressed his lips then to the Swede's cheeks, the Viking sighing at the affection he was receiving - that he sorely needed.

"And even then, I will always watch over you."

Berwald swallowed his tears down, looking pained at the man before him, so broken yet still so strong and composed - like a leader coaxing a young boy to carry on and move past the destruction to journey to the greatness.

"Dun'... Dun' talk like that. Dun' talk 'bout dyin'." He muttered sadly, resting his forehead on the Finn's warming shoulder, inhaling his scent that calmed him so much.

Tino sighed and nodded, understanding that the conversation had come to a close.

So, with gentle fingers, Tino led his husband back to their bed to snuggle their son and wrap their arms around each other with the promise of never letting go - not matter what.

And as Tino slowly fell asleep, lashes catching the sun from the brand new day that seeped from the cracks of their tent, Berwald felt better, much better than before.

Oh, he still felt like crying and ripping himself to pieces - but with Peter wrapped in between them mumbling silly words, with Tino's soft breath over his face that comforted him so - Berwald felt better. Better than he had in ages.

And so there was nothing to bade Berwald from whispering soft words of love over his child and wife. And there was nothing to keep him from asking Tino a question that he and his heart desperately wanted an answer to.

"T'no, will ya' be m' w'fe...?" He whispered gently over the top of Tino's head - his soft hair tickling his lips.

Tino, still sleeping soundly, only buried his head closer to Berwald's chest. Berwald was sure the Finn could hear his rapidly pounding heart, singing out a song just for him.

But Berwald sighed, kissing once against the Finn's temple before he too sank into the covers for some much needed rest.

He vowed to never let his family be taken from him again.

…**..**

**I would so be a dick if I just ended the whole story here. BUT I'M NOT! (Because we got a shit ton more chapters to go! Ain't I just great?) So, what's the verdict? Good chapter? Sucky chapter? TELL MEH - THE DOLPHINS ARE CIRCILING ME!**

…

**Authors Notes:**

**-**"Lady Sirona, she who commands healing by her watery springs, please - let not my Mamma be taken by the soil nor flame. Please."* **-"Sirona" was the Goddess of healing worshiped in East Central Gaul. She is also found in Old Iris as **_**Ser**_** and in Welsh as **_**Seren**_**. Her symbols were snakes and eggs and she presided over healing springs of water. **


	27. Nidstång, I Place My Faith in You

Welcome to this long overdue chapter of Barbarians Healer! **I'm sorry about the wait! Anyway, I'd like to thank my marvelously talented translators, **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**, Thank you so much you beauties! **I do not own Hetalia but I do own this story! **For this chapter I recommend listening to the song ****by** **.**

…

**IMPORTANT NEWS!**

**Today, at 6:00 PM Pacific Time, I will be in a SuFin Q&A Livestream with three other amazing SuFin authors - Kuro-Riya, Terra Saltt, and Tora-Starr. **

**The live stream is under the name SuFin and I will give anyone the link to the event who wants it. To view it and ask questions you have to have a live stream account. It is free and easy to obtain.**

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**PLEASE COME AND ASK ME AND THE OTHER AUTHORS QUESTIONS! YAY! NOW ONTO THE CARNAGE AND ANIMAL SACRAFICE!**

…

He had been wasting away for ten days now in the unbearable sorrow of his sick bed. Stuck and pinned viciously to the litter-like bed manger of wood and straw, heavy wool blankets and flaxen sheets pressed against legs and chest. Tan skinned deer hides that itched against him with the annoyance of fleas and ticks and everything else in-between piled high atop his chilled flesh that however burned him so. In accordance to his position and to his loyalty to his new found people, however, he was firm in not uttering a single complaint.

He dared not grumble about the stifling smell of the burning pine needles that Nikolas had set out for him on a low clay dish that burned night and day. He dared not nag about how his thirst bit into his very being and caused hallucinations of horror. He dared not whine about the weight of the blankets thrust upon and over his legs that were soaked through and through with his boiling sweat. _He dared not complain._ Not when he could hear the crudely made bronze bells clank and hustle against one another to create a tone of weary sadness masked by thankfulness for the Gods mercy. It was sound of burned dead, buried dead, ashen dead.

It was at the bells toll that the Finn found himself being rustled from sleep, the cold hands of his cousin helping him sit up from the froth and mass of his blankets that curled about him like soured milk.

It was on the tenth day that he was hustled from sleep to face the horrors of the outside. He would have rather veiled his eyes from the fright, but he had work to attend to.

The day was still new and early in the morning, and the chill immediately cast it's frost upon the Finn's bared arms and torso with spite. Soon a great clatter erupted from his teeth as his fingers numbly thrashed over arms and legs to relax the stiffness from them, stubborn as an unbendable birch branch.

It still caused him pain to breathe, pain to swallow and pain to speak, but ever so slowly the Finn was regaining his ability to return to his health thanks to his cousins gentle care.

However this morning was damp and unwanted, the chill of the air causing the Finn great trouble as Nikolas stood him up from bed, his feet touching the dirt of the floor that he had missed for ten days.

The earth burned the pads of his feet as if the caked and dried mud was venom.

"_Come now! _You are not a child in swatches and swaddle! Up! Up! _Up!_"Nikolas had cooed with forked tongue as the Finn was lifted from under his arms, his skin sliding with sweat and dirt and uglier things. Oh how he wished to just stay in the pile of filth.

Yet after much effort on the Norwegians' part as Tinos limbs did not wish to cooperate with Nikolas' touch, the elder of the two had Tino stripped of his clothing and bathed harshly till his skin burned red.

The cold water felt lovely on his over heated skin, but the luxury of this bath was not lost upon the Finnish man. Today was a day of big happenings, of duties he and Nikolas had to tend to…

Of healing the sick, consoling the living, and burning the dead.

"Have we enough bandages?" The Finn had asked quietly, doing well to not rasp his voice. Nikolas would only worry more than was needed.

"No." He murmured as he continued wrapping the Finns legs in strips of leather to protect his skin from the slashing of cold mud that was sure to accompany them once they journeyed outward.

Tino worried his lip between teeth that ached.

"Have we enough meat?" He prompted slowly.

Nikolas closed his eyes softly only to reopen them and stare at the Finn's face with a tranquil-like seriousness that made his youngest cousin squirm.

"Do not dear and quake so much. Death has come and she has swept up many in her loving hands. Let us now worry about those living and in much greater pain." Nikolas spoke without bite, his words too tired, too worn.

Tino nodded and sank his head low, the bandages at his neck tearing at his throat but he did not care so much. After the carefully slow fingers of Nikolas had unwrapped the Finn's stale and crust filled bandages, the Norwegian set to re-wrapping and fitting a light bolt of linen around his neck, fastening it loosely with bird bone pins and a simple swatch of saffron so as to make the injury appear grander than it was. _If there is anything the Danes have taught me, it is that one should be quite proud of their battle scars…_ Nikolas had said. Tino had bitten his tongue in an effort not to upset his cousin with his strong disagreement.

It was then at the aid of four handmaidens the two were dressed finely, their clothes remaining somber yet splendid for the occasion and for their obligations to uphold.

Nikolas' neck was adorned with glass beads imported from the shores of Norway, Tino himself sporting a lovely golden torc around his neck, the tips of the opened ram effigy necklace doing well to not touch nor scathe his wounds.

A robe of thickly woven wool was thrown around each of their shoulders as the women in charge of their wardrobes tutted around them. Dark colors, grey colors, burnt colors were wrapped firmly all about them as if they were parcels awaiting to be opened by deaths bony hands.

Tino could not, however, stave his own fingers from coming up each and every moment to brush themselves at the start and end of his wounds. Four scars that would never leave him. He imagined the giant long slit in the middle being the biggest of them all like a great red ugly smile smeared along his skin.

Nikolas was resolved in not showing Tino a mirror image of his wounds, but instead described them as plum purple with hints of red like the guts of a fish.

It did not do much to quell Tino's disgust for his injuries.

But at each minute his fingers strayed to pick at the bandage when Nikolas' back was turned, one of the handmaidens would put and end to his foolish thinking.

After a few out of place smacks of milk white hands upon the Finn's shaking own, Tino, like a child being scolded, bit his lip and never picked at his wounds for the remainder of his time spent in the tent. Though the maids advances upon hitting the Finn's hands away was excruciatingly out of line, they remedied themselves by squeezing his wrists in assurance that he was still very much respected. His wounds were not to be pitied, but instead were battle scars that spoke volumes of his love for his kinsman and tribe.

To them, he was no worse than before, but better in everyway for his confrontation with Ivan the Terrible.

It was not just modesty however, that caused the Finn to take little heart in their words.

After Tino and Nikolas had a meager breakfast of slightly foul cheese, grainy ale and bread sopped in duck gravy boiled just this morning, the two set off into the misty morning that hung low with the promises of a cold Autumn to arrive. Clouds of rain and tunnels of wind greeted them, causing their boots to become hardened with caked mud and their fingers to grapple at the opening of their coats to press them tighter around their sinewy shoulders.

Tino did not complain about the weather nor the way the rain clumped into streams of puddles on his woolen cloak. He was quiet, so very quiet that his pale lips barely trembled out breath let alone words that plagued him so. The two cousins did not talk, they did not mutter nor smile. Now was not the time, not in the slightest. Nikolas and he merely led themselves to a small copse of elm trees that whipped their branches threatening, grabbing and snatching at their hair. Tightened deer hides that had been rooted and tied to the blade like twigs made a meager shelter for the two and their patients that were sure to come.

Sitting themselves down upon three legged stools they waited.

All about them smoke curled from the small bonfires that had been kindled, fed, and maintained. The mist that plagued the embers could do nothing to extinguish their glow.

Some of the flames were there to cook hearty meals - bread baked hard and black, lentils stewed in pots of animal fat and cubes of meat, hens eggs broiled loose and runny to be sopped up with fingers. Comfort food for those in need of something to smile about.

Some of the flames were to recreate bent weapons lost in the throes of battle or to remedy those bent and broken. Scabbards were re-stitched with goat hide and sinew, grips were re-wrapped with linen and edges sharpened by the blunt of a whetstone. Safety for those that had lost their security at the hands of the Slavic's and by their own fears.

Some of the flames were to catch away the scent of disease and rot and to sterilize the crude instruments available to them for the wounded and dying. Pins, needles, hooks, and knives. Those that would be passing through flesh and blood and bone quite soon at the hands of the two royal cousins.

But Tino was nervous, for all around him was death and destruction, blood stained clothes long since dried to leave ugly copper welts upon wool and leather.

Nikolas had been taking excellent care of the villagers, the evidence was greatly profound in the way that they carried about.

A soldier leaned on stunted crutches, nursing a gangrenous toe. A woman pressed cold yarrow compresses to a bruise as black as the night sky. Children who fell from their horses in haste to escape the Slavic's raid were careful to not make their aching arms strain from their bandaged slings.

Tino had never seen a will so strong in a people so wrought with destruction at the hands of a ruthless and benevolent force. Even Mathias' troops so long ago could not have instilled Tino with such grief and shameful awe as this.

Bt thankfully, soon his mind was distracted elsewhere from the images of the haggard and grieving.

He was soon called to duty by the soothing voice of Nikolas who led an old man with a great welting gash upon his head into the makeshift clinic. The berth of fires before the sickened man caused the blood of the cracked wound to seem as free flowing as the day he received it from an enemies sword pommel. Tino and Nikolas would soon have their work cut out for them.

They soon had women weaving crude bandages from flax that would be used to wrap the infected areas to combat the loss of blood as well as rot that was sure to accumulate.

They had little boys and girls carrying sloshing buckets of water and baskets of dried herbs to and fro to the two cousins. Yarrow leaves were pulped and chewed in the mouth of Nikolas and administered to the bloodied area to stop the rivers of red from the flesh. The many buds of the flower was boiled and steeped into a tea given for the men and horses to drink to reduce the swelling of their beaten joints and legs. The tips of the golden broom were smashed by mortar and pestle and smeared upon legs and elbows, wrists and fingers to sooth the joints disturbed by hard ridding. Draughts of angelica were made to ease the troubles of headaches that throbbed un-relentlessly at the skull like a flock of crows pecking at the bone.

The three Slavic captives that they had taken in by Tinos insistence were put to work for the two healers as was needed. Treated better than they could have ever hoped, they found themselves wrist deep in blood and meat as they held spasm fraught men down for Nikolas and Tino's expert stitching hands to find their way into the flesh. It was a sickening job and it fouled ones nose quickly, but they preferred it much more to the brutal treatment they would have had to endure at the hands of Natasha.

The elderly women that were so very kind to Tino in the first days of his new life helped as well to clean and dress the wounds with soft care and runic incantations that dribbled from their lips. Nikolas and the elderly women applied their hands to certain wounds that was beyond their care, but that would need the help of certain Deities and offerings to heal.

It was not long before each and every worker in the sorry looking tent had fingernails blossoming with blood as they tended to those less fortunate then themselves. The blood that flecked from their hands was the blood that belonged to the best warriors the clan had produced. It was a sham to have the muddy floor littered with the scarlet puddles.

Leeches were brought forth from the swamps for blood letting, fish bone needles strewn with thread were sewn into flesh and crude tasting tonics and poultices were applied to weary throats and burns, cuts and bruises. Salve after Salve was concocted and metal tongs and knives were repeatedly cleaned in already murky looking water.

They would have to make due and pray that the treatments lasted for the next battle that was slowly approaching.

After the long afternoon wore down with the air cold and crooning and the weary cries of man, woman and child subsidized into the still light flickering evening, Tino and Nikolas could do no more work.

Hands that used to not weary back home so quickly now became cramped and sinewy with strain. Wrists ached and would not jolt, fingers were dyed a pinkish blood and black from the smoke of coals and the ripped flesh of amputation. The smell of bile from behind the tent from their Slavic assistance had become runny from the rains and made their throats gag.

Tomorrow they would check upon their patients again and advise them of their health, but now the herbs were stocked low and the bandages were all soaking in pales of water and blood. Their weary work would take up again early in the morning at the first light.

Yet now was a more daunting task to upkeep...

A horse was brought before Nikolas, all curved in step and rein.

Mud caked on it's breast and haunches was no more. It's mane had been combed of knots and it's coat on it's neck gleaned and clipped. It was a fine looking thing, young and beautiful with a hide as black as the earth of Iceland. The mare was certainly attractive to the eyes, like the beautiful yet mysterious ebony feathers of a raven.

Soon though, no one would look upon this beast with favor, but rather with distain.

A Hazelwood pole about nine feet in length was lugged into the clearing that was to be used for the purpose of this deed. Meadow grass sopping wet with summers rain squelched underneath boots and cane as men and women gathered from their huts to brave the mist. The children were left in the makeshift huts to tend to the cooking hearth fires.

Quite quickly the shaven pole was then thrust upon the ground with great strife and anger, as if blundering the land to make it bleed from an opened wound. Bubbling black and tan clay from it's depths. The displeasure of the earth was very much a cause for their workings though Nikolas was careful to not upset too much distress and vengeance. He knew what terror that could bring for them all.

Knives were brought forth by men of high standing including the two Chieftains with their faces all somber and strained.

Those who could read and write the runes with perfected care took a hand of the pole and began to carve insults of every kind upon the soaked wood. The chopped pike only leaned into the soil, the tip pointed to the marshland. Disturbances and sly words meant to cut and drain the body of blood were etched and scratched and scathed to cause great feats of pain and hurt into those it was direct to.

After the pole was neatly scrawled with hatred and anger by the kinsman of the Danes and Swedes, the shaft of wood was set directed to the area where the Slavic's lay outward into the marsh that festered with saw grass and swill water.

The horse was then yanked forward towards the pike, her feet prancing back and forth as if the animal could detect what lay ahead for her. She smelled the heady scent of fear and did not like it one bit.

Two men, one to hold the beasts lead, the other to hold the animals head still, contained the mare to a haughty stand still.

Nikolas approached the beautiful animal with a knife sharpened by whetstone to cause the least bit of pain to the animal. It was curved just delicately for the right angle to bring the giant animal down.

It was over suddenly.

With a pained noise in the animals throat, the horse's flesh was slit and the animal jerked it's body into relief. Head slumping to the grass with old weight now lifted, the rounded body heaved upon the dirt with a snap as legs caught and pulled beneath the now spasm-heavy muscles.

Blood soon erupted from the severed cut and bubbled onto the ground for what would be a great amount of time. A stunted river of blood would be the only left once the meat was carved to feed the men and the head taken special care of.

Once the animal lay still, curling no more, Nikolas rolled up his tunic sleeves and a sword was brought forth by Mathias.

Taking the sword with a grave sense of duty the Norwegian raised it high and cut it through the fogged air with precision, the meat sliding and hacking off in ribbons to fully free the horses body.

The head now detached was fastened to the tip of the pole in a bloody slide of fingers over flesh and blood skewered on the sheared edge of the pike. With the tongue dangling from the yellowed teeth of the mare, Nikolas raised his hands high.

As the pole was set, Nikolas spoke a 'nid', a verbal curse full of spit and anger and anguish, over the dead animals blood peppered snout.* The magic that coursed from his throat, that bubbled on his tongue and spewed from his lips stung with great power, like a thick and prickly cloud of ocean mist coating the air and strangling it lovingly. Many a man backed a little ways away from the pole as if they were spooked sheep running from the gaze of a wolf ready to lunge.

The words were carefully crafted, spoken with fever and the bitter sense of scalding as if the words were colored red with hate. They spoke of delivering the enemy to the forces of destruction for their wrong doing. To ensnare those that would raise sword and spear against them, those that would encroach upon a land not theirs. The Slavic's would soon - if the magic was created in it's rightful purpose - perish.

"Here I place this "Nidstang", and turneth it against Ivan the Terrible and Natasha of Death - turneth I this against all the spirits and little people of the land, that they may all be lost, not finding their homes, until they drive Ivan and Natasha out of the country."* Nikolas' usually steadied voice quaked with a sad kind of fury, as if he regretted even allowing the words to creep from his mouth. It was as if he wished to run his palm over his lips to wipe away the stench of his voice now turned wrecked.

However, the curse was soon burning in his words, the people around him feeling it nip and bite along the floor under their feet until some began to shake and spit fell from their lips as they spat at the ground.

Tino himself, who had lived with Nikolas for a good portion of his life, had never felt this kind of hideous magic before from his cousin. Nikolas had achieved great feats here, living with the Swedes and Danes who required the most potent of charms and hex work.

Once the curse was put into a fevered motion, the villagers scrambled away from the clearing as if coals had been dumped into their shoes. The ground was blazed underneath their feet, superstitious gripping a hold of them like a chill that could not be shaken from their bones.

Strong men came to quarter and draw the horses carcass, picking up chunks of meat and flesh to be charred and roasted - no meat could be spared save the head of the beast. The mare's skull would be the only thing left of the top of the despised pole, bleached and dried from the sun.

The sunken eye sockets would rest forever on the stolen territory of Ivan's kinsman.

…

**Okay, rushed chapter is rushed, sorry about that. I wasn't really feeling it this time, but hopefully the next one will be better. REVIEW PLEASE!**

…

**Authors Notes:**

- As the pole was set, Nikolas spoke a 'nid', a verbal curse full of spit and anger and anguish, over the dead animals blood peppered snout.* **- A**_**nidstang**___**or**_** nithing pole **_**was a pole with a dead horses head or the hide of a horse on the wood. It was used in Germanic Pagan tribes to curse an enemy**_**. **_**It ****w****ould**** anger the earth below and the spirits that resided in nature**** and ****their fury would be directed to the ****enemy**** and ****cause them to lose in battle or have misfortune befall them.**

-"Here I place this "Nidstang", and turneth it against Ivan the Terrible and Natasha of Death - turneth I this against all the spirits and little people of the land, that they may all be lost, not finding their homes, until they drive Ivan and Natasha out of the country."* **- The words Nikolas recites are reversed from a curse said by ****Egil Skallagrimsson**** to curse King Eirik in the **_**Saga of **__**Egil Skallagrimsson**__**.**_


	28. Death Welcomed No More

**Welcome to Chapter 28 of Barbarians Healer! I know the last chapter wasn't really exciting or anything, and I can't say that this one will be any better - but it does have some good cultural learning's in it, so that can be interesting too, right?! Right?! Anyway, I'd like to thank my amazing translators, **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**! Thank you so much, beauties! **I do not own Hetalia nor its characters, though I do own this story. **This chapters song is called **Storm **by** Fejd.

**Listen to the song or I will punch you in the throat. Or the dolphins will punch you in the throat. Either way. Throat.**

**NOW IT'S TIME TO BURY YER' DEAD!**

…

The tents were chilled when they arrived at the hovels. The pit dug from the middle of the floor was grey rimmed with flaking coals long since cold, and it chilled ones very soul just to lay eyes upon the weathered hearth. As each cousin's breath spitted from their lips like the steam from a dragons curled nostrils, all hot and misty, they knew today would be a trial in itself.

It was a terrible day to be alive, and an even more upsetting day to be dead and buried.

Tino was the first to feel the ice settle thickly upon his ribs, as if it was a razor thin spider web snatching in between the vines and lengths of his bones.

It would be a rain spent evening, he concluded softly in his mind that was already heavy with sorrow. The clouds hung low above them - as if one could stroke the whiteness of their bellies and become wet with dew, as if they would crack open and the water would drown the earth and all who inhabited it.

Tino found that the rain was welcomed - perhaps it would cleanse the earth of it's bloodied soil and cool it's temper.

The preparations for tonight would happen with or without a peaceful sky. The events had been made and perfected a few days prior, Tino had found out, by none other than Nikolas himself.

As Tino had lay wasting away in the wool of his nightshirts and flaxen blankets, his Norwegian cousin had become quite busy attending to the necessary duties to preserve the dead until the time was ripe for the fires to be stoked and the mud to be unearthed and re-packed.

It was expected of a Swedish military camp to see their dead lie in the crevasse of a boat. A fishing boat, a mound of stones in the shape of a vessel, a flit of planks bent and twisted to create a half-hazard hull - it did not matter as long as the dead was able to manage the task of sailing it away to Valhalla.

Nikolas had become prudent with the idea that they could not spare any of their own warships against the Slavic's when they had already lost so many of their men to the glint of spears and the hoof of horses.

It was decided, Nikolas concluded with stern breath, that as the Norwegians and Swedes, who were accustomed to the burying of riches with the deceased, and the Danes who were only comfortable with symbolic means, would see to it that those who died in battle would receive a vast pit in the ground, arched by collected stones to create the shape of a ship. Grave goods would be deposited accordingly to each mans status - animals, gold, slaves, and food and drink were all acceptable terms that the family was permitted to see join the dead man in his plight.

Tino, of course, had very little to say on the mention of the dead men. He was a foreign man in a foreign land with ways not at all like his own, and he knew it was best to fetter his tongue during this cultural exchange that seemed to be going on about him. He was not a Viking, and he never proposed to be one. It would be much more respectful enough to quiet his suggestions for now, lest he unknowingly anger the Danes who seemed to be hard set on their own traditions that seemed all but alien to the Swedes.

So Tino had dressed solemnly, quietly, as he watched Nikolas flutter back and forth from his tent to his cousins, his face red with exasperation and hands curled into fists of frustration.

All this, just to bury their men that were already rotting in the ground from where they were temporarily placed. Tino could only sigh and dress himself in his finely sewed robes, somber in color and right for the occasion of disposing of the warriors that had fought so hard for what they believed in. Tino was glad they would now find eternal rest from their torment. He only wished he could as well.

At the last of Nikolas' huffed explanation of exactly why the Danish men could not be buried in a boat nor have a funeral pyre to burn the body to ashes - but to be instead laid whole in an earthen mound, Tino had sat himself down at the edge of his bed and began to comb his fingers through his sons hair.

The child was well enough now to have human contact and physical affection, and after ten days of what seemed to Tino like a dreadful coma, the Finn wasted no time in bathing his child in love and care.

After what seemed like a slew of dreadful minutes that ticked by gratingly slow, Nikolas was finally dressed and calmed, his nose pressed to a small glass bottle of spicy cloves that seemed to ease the tension in his shoulder.

Tino only wished he could be of more diplomatic help in these situations, but found that he would more than likely offend his or the neighboring tribe more with his non-Viking tongue.

But onward Tino drew himself up from his comfy seat upon the fox furs and sheep skins. He collected Peter at his hip and heaved the child to his side, Peter wrapping his feebly freckled arms round the Finns neck. The spots that ached him so long before now all but faded.

His child knew what was expected of him - to be quiet and still, to not speak but to bite his tongue instead. Yet still his child shied his head away to nuzzle it in the crook of his parents shoulders, mindful of the pinned cloth at the Finn's throat that hid a most terrible afflicting scar.

"Hush, little one. Do not be sad. The men and women who died are now reaping the benefits of life. They will be missed, but they are happier now." Tino's voice curled dry and a bit weak as he kissed his child about the head. Peter squirmed and bit at the inside of his cheek, as if he was afraid to say something, fearing it would earn him a hit on the back of the head.

"Where do they go?" Peter whispered softly against Tino's scarred neck.

The Finn paused his hands in their stroking movement at the little boys back, drawing a breath against his lips.

"My love, all paths are different - but these men and women, they each went to a grand place in the arms of their Gods." Tino whispered against the silk of Peter's hair as he walked through the tarps of the tent, Nikolas in front of him, pushing the blanketed oiled flaps from the Finn's face. His cousin had picked up his own babe and had the younger toddler fitted against his chest, pudgy fingers tangling at the wolf's pelt wrung about the Norwegians neck. Nikolas hummed softly, an off-set tune that betrayed his worrisome heart.

"But where? Where is it that they go?" Peter sat up, blue eyes that had been clouded with so much pain before, seemed to quiver with the need for comfort and reassurance. Tino could not shatter the look in his child's eyes, he just couldn't.

"My dear baby boy, the men and women who fought and died went to special places indeed." Tino cooed, quickening his pace to find himself shoulder to shoulder with Nikolas. The Norwegian pressed his shoulder into the Finns, a light seeping of warmth exchanged that allowed Tino to know that his cousin was there for him. Tino was not alone in his sorrow and calamity.

"The men who died go to the All-Fathers Hall in Valhalla where they are immortal - able to eat and drink and fight as much as they want, all born anew each day to battle again and again." Tino murmured atop the child's head, watching the little boys eyebrows furrow downward.

"And the women?" He asked, clutching further to his parents hooded robe as others, villagers and warriors came and gathered around them, all walking the same path to the clearing where the burials and burnings were to take place. No one smiled. All they could do was stare lowly at the ground as the wind tore at their faces and nipped at their skin. Nature mocked them all, the earths flesh muddied at their feet, the rain misting about their matted hair and faces.

_All must die, the wind whispered, all must die._

_Foolish mortals, even the Gods die, even the Gods die._

_You must die, all of you, you must die. _

Tino shut his eyes tight, temples squeezing, eyesight turning black before the colors of mud and wind and mist struck him again. He gathered his breath back about him and cleared his throat, feeling his voice dry and frail.

"The women who died go to Freyja's Fortress…" He murmured. "There they are guarded by the Goddess herself. They enjoy exquisite food and drink, and become maidens of the Warrior Goddess herself, in a land of happiness." Tino spoke, catching the glinting light of happiness in Nikolas' eye before it was gone, shrouded in a vigil of sadness for those no longer living upon the land of mortal men.

Brothers, husbands, sisters, wives, grandmothers, grandfathers, children, nephews and nieces, aunts and uncles. They were all lost to them. _Friends, almost all gone. _

"Then they died with honor?" Peter asked once more, his eyes serious and swimming with fear.

"Yes, my love," Tinos voice was soft as he spoke, "they all died with honor."

…

As no Chieftains had met their plight upon the scorched battlefield, the great and few warships that each tribe possessed was spared.

Bark from the lush trees surrounding them, however, was dragged into the lapping bluff of the ocean where the waters fed the marsh around the settlement. There the wood was worked and bent, laced with a sap-gum like varnish and tugged together in the form of crudely looking ships, large enough to house even the most biggest of men, no matter the gut size. Each structure was then waded into the water, ready to be lit, or dragged and dropped into a dug out pit, to be rotted away by the powers of time and nature.

A few days prior, those whose bodies could not be spared from rotting or those who were slaves or men of lower status, were burned on smaller pyres out in a meadow clearing. The smell of burning flesh still wove its way into the air and stuck to each kinsman's bodies as they had watched the dead men being burned, flesh crisped black and beaded with spine sap from the fallen logs.

Tino himself had taken up the task to collect wood for the bodies, though it was not needed of him. Many of men, including Berwald had scolded him for doing it, but Tino would hear nothing of it. It was his way of paying respects, what little he could give, that is.

Yet now the fight was kick out of Tino, like the powerful swing of a horses hoof jolted against his stomach. Now, Tino had to sit still, babe in his arms, as he watched his husband and brother-in-law stand before the great roaring fires that had just been lit by torch. They stood before the dug pits sloshed with muddied walls, before the rolled logs and stones set in a crude formation of boats.

Now it was time for those of higher standing to be buried and to join the great halls of Valhalla.

The bodies of the few men who had been wrapped in linen and whom were now festering in the cold ground, were dug up. Fortunately, the warm weather had made the upheaval of sod nice and easy, and so their grey-tinted bodies were not as grotesque as they could have been. If the men had the misfortune of being buried deep in the cradles of winter, the corpses would surely have been blue with frost and as easy has heaving boulders from the thrashes of sod and dead vegetation.

Yes, it was a lovely time in the season to die, except of course the heat that made the limbs and faces of the bodies grow ever-so stank.

Nikolas and Tino could not help themselves as they dabbed their robes sleeves to their noses, eyes refusing to feast upon the worm laden bodies that were already heavily bloated and leaking foul liquids the like that Trolls in their deepest hunger would not even feed upon.

As the hands of the slaves robbed the graves and laid the bodies to rest upon the pyre or to wither in the muddy ground, the first wails began to sound and eat against the trees.

A mad dash of ravens, waiting for the feast, echoed the calls of mourning most graciously.

The men's horses, those that had survived the massacre from ten days before, were led to the clearing. At the hand motion of Berwald and Mathias, each was struck down across the temple with a hand axe, the animals all laden in their best tack, fell into the pits alongside their masters with a bellowing heave.

Dogs and cats, too, followed until the smell of death renewed, sharp and salty, bit at the air.

Dredges of blood filled each pit with shallow red as the faces of the men were speckled in fresh blood from their friends and companions in life.

At last came the call for the kinsman, for the slaves, for the handmaidens. And so it was that three widows that day was burned alive with their deceased husbands, their wails cut abruptly short by the merciful bulk of a spear brought to each woman's back as they curled along the body of their scorched or blood flecked husband.

Tino felt his stomach lurch, feeling nausea speckled at the back of his throat as he watch the hair of one woman fizzle and burn, smelling something awful.

He looked to Nikolas and saw his cousins face meld into pity and, most importantly, fear.

Should Mathias and Berwald die, who was to say the two cousins would not find it their duty to burn upon the funeral pyre with their beloved husbands?

It was not something to think upon so lightly, and with so great a possibility.

Tino could only shatter the thought from his mind with great insistence. He felt his shoulders sag and shuddered as he held Peter closer to his chest, the child having long since grown silent in his little sobs.

The stench of the activities was poorly kept at bay by garlanded of summers lasting flowers, and it did no good to cool the fever upon the Finn's face. Braided grass and pine boughs, of freshly blooming wood sorrel flowers and wild roses clung to the sagging wood as they too caught upon the flames, Berwald and Mathias muttering words of sadness over the hungry fire that consumed and ate.

They spoke boldly. Spoke of feats of triumph that the men before them had accomplished, had earned in their own right. They spoke of the joy of death on the battle field, of the surge of power one felt to die at the hand of a worthy advisory. The joy of having ones flesh reside in the belly of wolves and the bones in gullets of black birds.

Tino could barely make out most of the words, so muffled and so distressed, and so he gave up trying. He only focused on the feeling, on the thought of emptiness, on the idea that death was so available for them all. _That it was to be practically celebrated. _

It was like a grand great friend, a presence in their lives that they had long ago welcomed to their hearth with palms laid flat and a mouth smiling sweetly.

Death had always been in Tino's life, such a constant comfort it was.

Only now, Tino realized, as he looked at the child in his arms, as he felt the warmth at his breast that was pricked with pain and tears and a mixture of all things red-hot and sad…

_He no longer wished to welcome death. He wanted nothing to do with death…_

The smoke was thick now and it rose heavily above the encampment. The sounds of ravens cawing, of the cold oceans water swirling, and of the soft wails of men and women alike breathed into them all. It was all filled with noise and yet, not. For one was too exhausted to even find it in themselves to try and hear their own heart-beat, as if it had long grown silent in their very chests.

The Finnish man, who was once all alone, who had found and helped raise a family that loved him, no longer wanted to be alone and hear this silence.

He did not want to hear the stillness of a babes cry, the thundering of a waters crash, nor the insistent caw of a blackbirds triumph at finding a carcass to pick clean.

He no longer wanted death to be a constant presence, and so, as he watched the flames eat and eat and eat, he decided, _no more._

The flesh of those men would be the last the fire ever ate - for the enemies of the Swede's and Danes would now find _themselves_ roasted upon spit and flame.

Tino would make sure of it.

…

**So. Short and uneventful chapter is short and uneventful, BUT WE DO HAVE TINO FINALY GETTING HIS SHIT TOGETHER. It looks like Little Finny is now dedicated and in for the long run, yay, about freaking time. So, Reviews would be ever so kind, and I thank you for them. They also help keep the dolphins away which have until recently, kept me away from you lovelies. SO SHOWER ME WITH REVIEWS YES.**

…

**Authors Notes:**

**Just an all around note about the funeral preparations:**

**When Danish warriors died, symbolic sacrificial offerings or objects would be put into the grave with them, unlike Norwegian and Swedish burials which contained actual weaponry, animals, food and drink, furniture, jewelry, and on occasion, slaves or relatives who had offered to be killed and buried with the deceased. **

**In Norway and Sweden it was common to bury or burn their dead in a boat, while in Denmark this practice was practically unknown. In Denmark, instead, they would bury their dead in a boat-like structure, such as an oval formation of rocks to mimic the appearance of a boat - once again, showing the symbolic practice of the Danes. Cremation was also much more common in Norway and Sweden then in Denmark. But altogether, the method of dealing with the body was mostly reliant upon local customs, the wealth of the dead person, the social status of the person in the village, and what traditions/religion they observed such as Christianity or Paganism. This information was collected from "The Vikings" by Johannes Br****ø****ndsted. **


	29. A Plan Struck and a Bed Kindled

**Welcome to the next chapter! I know the last two were full of sadness and despair, but this one will have a bit more of a happier tone to it.** **I'd like to thank my amazing translators, **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**! Thank you so much, beauties! **I do not own Hetalia nor its characters, though I do own this story. **This chapters song is called **Ymer **by** Manegarm. **Enjoy!**

…

The tent was cold as stone when they entered its sanctuary, both weary boned as they urged Peter to walk through the threshold on his gangly knee scraped legs. The child had stopped crying by now, cheeks bloomed pink by the winds that fluttered about them from outside. Tino took the boy to his hip, the soft hair at the crown of Peter's head scrunching messily in the Finn's palms as Tino patted the silken locks. With special care to wrap the child in the scraggily hides of his and Berwalds bed, the Finnish man dressed the coarse and heavy mule deer's fur upon Peter's shivering frame.

"You will have to dry yourself up properly later, Peter." Tino cooed to the child, the only answer he received in turn being a shrug of shoulders and a low mumble from the gap in the tanned leather and fur.

Tino sighed and patted a soothing hand over the lumpy pile of coverings that made up the child's cocoon, tempted to try and coax the child out once more, but giving up against the battle.

Turning away from the huddled mass, he set to work undoing the bone ties at his robe, twisting each from their hold before he freed himself from the wools weight.

It was nice to have the chilled wraps off his shoulders, and he sighed contently at the creaking of his bones beneath his chilled skin. Though it still hurt to breathe from his lips, to fill his lungs with deep intakes of breath, his wounds were letting up some, thank the Gods.

Making his way over to his betrothed, he helped the hulking Swede with his own wear, careful to not meet the jade eyes of the man, eyes that shone a sad mixture of sadness and pride - as if the sea-green iris swallowed up all the flecks of gold greedily.

The Swede had reason to feel pleasure and pain - his men had been buried, yes, but they died a warriors death, a grand and befitting one.

Tino did not wish to break the silence with idle chatter that meant nothing to the both of them, so instead he fumbled with the leather throat latches at the Swede's collar, taking extra care with the movement of his chilled skin so that they did not cause the Swede to startle. All to soon, though, his fingers became crooked and bent by the time he had worked and silently finished the task of unknotting the rose knot leather tie of Berwalds armor.

Next, Tino wandered listlessly to a small little brass bowl that stuck out from the opened lid of a cedar trunk. Taking the simple looking bowl into his hands, he dipped the lip of it into a pail of cooled water. Flicking a combination of three fingers into the liquid he then dabbed at the ash dusted along Berwald's jaw, the Swede, as tame as any house cat, sat patiently while the other man cleaned his face lovingly and with great care.

It was a gesture of solidarity, and it did wonders to leak the tension and sorrow from each others shoulders. It did well to remind them that they were not alone, they still had each other to lean against and comfort, and that was more than enough to be thankful for.

After most of the water had beaded along the Swede's golden becoming of a beard, Berwald returned the favor and began to dab at his lovers face. By the time the Swede deemed himself done with his handy work, the cloth was stained an earthen grey and was thrown into a wicker basket to be tended to later by lye soap and pounding stones.

The two sat half heartedly upon the hide covered stools, breathing softly, hearing the rain patter against the deer skinned tarps of the structure, the soft snores of their child rupturing the stilled silence that would surely have given weigh to uncomfortable distress.

Tino cleared his throat, a gesture that pained him slightly, causing his hands to fly to the hollow of his throat.

"How goes the war, husband?" Tino asked softly, hands placing themselves over Berwalds. They warmed easily at the touch.

Berwald sighed through his nose, eyes half lidded in his skull. He leaned against the shoulder of the man next to him and sunk easily into Tino's side, body greedily soakin up the warmth of Tino's body heat.

"It can't be certain who is winnin' an' who is loosin' - so many a' men 'ave already died, with little ta' no ground ta' be gained… Ah' just wish ah never 'ave ta' see another friend taken ta' th' pyre." Berwald mumbled, the sound low in his chest as his words breathed warm against the Finn's neck.

Tino dipped his head to the left, pressing a chaste kiss atop his beloveds hair, like he often did with Peter when the child was in a great need to be soothed.

Berwald didn't stir.

"Talk of those dead and buried concerns us no more, it is the living that we must draw attention to." Tino spoke, his words sharp and slightly chastising, causing the Swede curled against his side to grumble and guff.

"Aye, an' what do th' livin' say?" Berwald mumbled, un-tucking his head from Tino's shawl to rest his chin atop the Finn's shoulder.

Tino brought his left hand to the side of Berwalds cheek, fingers lovingly petting the rough beard he found.

Biting his lip, the Finn spoke again, this time turning to look into the jade-jeweled gaze he found before him.

"Dress yourself in cloak and fur, bring your pen and pot of ink, and come and be moved by my words." Tino smiled with teeth as he removed himself from the warm sinking feeling of the bed.

Turning away to fetch a bit of incense and a dish, Tino mused silently, and attempted to straighten his thoughts. "How soon do you suppose the next attack from the Slavic's shall be?" He asked hurriedly as he set some pine resin to burning atop the bench that was pressed up against the end of the bed. They all smelled like ash and sea spray, a horrible smelling mixture that the Finn would be more than happy to rid the room of.

Berwald bit at his lip in concentration, his eyes rimmed black from lack of sleep as he yawned.

"They've been courteous enough ta' let us deal with our dead, however, I shall not expect 'em to keep us waitin' any longer. Ah give it a few more days until we see their ugly hides again." Berwald heaved with tired words, fingers combing absently at the distressing amount of bandages on his bared left arm that Tino insisted he be burdened with to aid in his bruises and burns.

Tino nodded at the information that he was given, his thoughts rattling in his head. He made his way to the long bench-like table that was cluttered near to bursting with paper, stretched leather, painted stones, and reed-pens - and decided to make himself useful.

His eyes began to study and curiously scan over a few maps drawn up on faded leather and parchment, each blackened symbol and note glaring at him. This was the table that drew up many a mans death, pressures, and strife.

Tino stood for nearly a full five minutes, Berwald stationed at his side with a bemused smile, when suddenly an idea struck the Finn, as if a great and clever plan hatched inside his head and cleaved forth.

Excitedly, the Finn turned to the warrior next to him, words bursting from his lips.

"Then let us draw up a plan of sorts…" Tino reasoned, fingers playing with the tip of a blackened twig that Berwald seemed to have favored when dotting out strategies and paths for his men to take heed to.

"An' what plan would that be?" Berwald hummed, eyeing the itching fingers of the Finn as they held tightly to the writing reed.

"We can surely not be expected to train your… _our_ men, to ride with ease into battle while laden with axe, sword, and bow. T'would be a useless thought to entertain when we have but only a small amount of time before the phoenix leaves the safety of it's nest."

"Aye, an' what do you propose we do?" Berwald asked, pushing the folds of the map towards the Finn, an approving smile hinting in the Swedish mans eyes.

Tino smiled nice and bright and drew a thinly veiled shape along the territory of swamps with black ink, the clotted sketch causing Berwalds eyebrows to become raised.

"We lure them, trap them, and best them." Tino smiled up at his husband with a devilish grin so wide it made his eyes quicken with gleam.

Berwald looked towards the markings his beloved had just drawn again, eyes retracing the figure with determination. It was not long before Berwalds own lips grew into a grin, smaller than the Finns, but still there - and still gleaming.

"A _Damen Lejon_, you most certainly are." The Swede pressed his palms along the Finn's shoulders, running his hands along Tino's arms in a warming gesture of touch.

The Finn could only smile down at his handy work, feeling the over-whelming glory of victory in their grasps.

…

It was early dawn the next day when the small and ramshackle family of the Northern Lions made their way from the mild warmth of their tents to bare the elements for a short walk to the stilted home of the Southern Wolves.

Bundled with flaxen cloaks and an armful of wriggling Peter, Berwald and Tino hastily pushed back the oiled tarps of Nikolas and Mathias' lodgings, revealing an almost pleasantly homey sight.

Nikolas had halted in his movements at the sound of visitors entering his hut - his wet hands stilling themselves against Mathias' scalp. It was only when his startled eyes met the gazes of his cousin and the other fellow Chieftain and their son did the Norwegian go back to his work, his spindly fingers combing back Mathias' unruly hair.

Mathias, eyes brilliant and wide even though the early morn begged for sleep, was the one to great them with great clapping and cheer.

"Ah, come in my kin, come in! To what do we owe this pleasure?" Mathias grinned as he gestured for the freckled child between Tino and Berwalds legs to come forth and greet his uncle Mathias. Nikolas made room for the childs passing, absently chewing a bit of rabbit hide in his mouth to soften it for string to tie his husbands hair back.

"We have matters we would like to discuss" Tino smiled, standing next to Nikolas to kiss his cousin upon the cheek before setting himself down upon a stool cushioned by sheep's hide.

Mathias hummed thoughtfully at the Finns words, quickly scooping up a chattering Peter to his lap. The child smiled silently, before, by the careful hands of Tino, Bjort was coddled to Peters own chest. The freckled child began to quietly play with the toddlers softly curling hair. Bjort only whined in annoyance before a quick kiss on the top of his head from Mathias settled him. Once the children were taken care of and happily distracted, Berwald decided it was time to converse the meaning of their early morning visit.

Berwald sat himself down beside Mathias, flickering his gaze to the Dane before he silently handed him a rolled and tied map, weighty in his hands.

The Dane raised an eyebrow, tilting his head before he unfurled the wide and stretched piece of parchment. Mathias soon began to wince at an especially hard tug from Nikolas' who had now started on combing and braiding the little twists of Mathias' unruly reddened blonde hair.

"What is this?" Mathias asked seriously, eye scanning over the indented notes on the map that burned bright and vivid along the ashen yellow of the paper.

""S a proposition - Tino drew it up." Berwald said, pride evident in his own voice as he sat back in his chair, the legs creaking some.

Nikolas himself set his scissors down to lean against Mathias' shoulder, eyes absorbing the thickened lines of the map.

Tino could only fidget in place, unsure of how he and his work would be received - he was not so adamant in his abilities to draw up a proper battle strategy, and he rightfully feared immediate rejection for his proposition. He was just a poor healer, not a warrior and certainly not a strategist…

"It's risky as well as damning, an' none too clean…" Mathias spoke suddenly, eyes still enthralled by the map. Nikolas hit him gently upside the head, whispering "Behave", to his beloved with a stern bite in his voice as he tied a small patch of Mathias' hair to the nape of his neck.

Mathias grumbled and rubbed his head, but conceded none the less, like a wolves tail stuck between his legs in regard to authority.

"But… it's a good plan. One that might actually work, though we're not forgiven on time, so we must attend to the undertakings at once." Mathias struggled with his words, biting his lip as he took one more gaze at the map before gesturing Berwald to set it down upon a bench near by.

"I was hopin' you'd accept the plan." Berwald smiled softly, the look in his eyes mellow.

"Anythin' to help my newfound kin, an' it is worth a try." Mathias sighed tiredly, reaching forth to clasp hands against Berwalds forearms, the Swede completing the motion with as much fever as the Dane.

"Aright, then. Tino, you're the leader of this attempt, so what you say goes, what will you need?" Mathias wiped his face clean with an absent washing cloth. He kicked the giggling children off his lap and piled them into the big bed-like manger that stood proudly in the hut. Throwing a wolf pelt over the squealing young children, the two instantly prickled with giggles and little imitations of howls as they scrambled and squirmed under the grey pelt.

As soon as the children were occupied once more, Tino grew serious, rattling off numbers that spewed forth from his lips with caution and care.

"I'll need half of the well and able villagers to start work on the swamp, the others to go into the forest and cut down limbs and logs, I'll need those that are ill or lamed to help as well, women and men to sharpen pine boughs, children to collect thrush and manure." Tino spoke, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Mathias scribble down notes and orders, scratching his chin occasionally.

"My men and women are better with axes, so they'll be put to work in the forest. Berwald, you're kin are more suited for the gathering of cow shit." Mathias concluded with a jeer, sending Berwald to growling as the Dane smirked.

"Easy, easy, gentlemen. Save the fight for the next battle, _the_ _winning battle_." Nikolas warned, wiping his hands dry on the front of his tunic.

"You all know what is to be done, now set your people to work - They could use a distraction, the Gods know!" Nikolas barked, causing both men to stand up and leave the tent in abrupt hurry. Only Mathias' shrill order for attention from the masses could be heard ringing throughout the area.

At once Tino's gaze turned to his cousin, eyes filled to the brim with thankfulness.

Nikolas squeezed his cousins shoulder, thinned fingers worn with work and cold straightening out the seams in the Finn's tunic collar.

"You are a fine leader, Tino, you've already proved as much." His voice hushed any semblance of doubt in the Finns heart.

"Thank you, cousin, I must say I learned from the best." Tino smiled shyly, coming to the edge of the Norwegians bed to fish out the two giggling children from the straw and bedding.

Nikolas returned the smile softly, somberly, as he coddled his baby brothers frame to his breast. He shook his head though, eager for distracting thoughts and actions.

"Now, come, let us watch the earth swallow the Salvic's whole." Nikolas hummed, opening the tarps to let Tino and Peter through.

They made their way outside, the sky haloed entirely in blue above them.

A blessing from the Gods.

…

They are put to work immediately. Through the misty hotness of the day, where rain is sure to follow, they are armed with hoe, rake, pitchfork, and saw.

The three Slavic captures are assessed, separated, and assigned to be assistants to whatever Tino might need.

Toris, with hands that were steady and strong, was set to lead a small blackened mane pony over and over the course of the swamp anew, mapping out possible routes that the Slavic's might take for the benefit of the master scheme.

It was not long ago in capture that Toris confessed to know a great deal about the Slavic's bred beasts, and so Tino quickly flung the lead rope of a shaggy eared Icelandic horse his way, with orders to lead the animal over the threshold of possible routes Natasha might take her bloody brood over.

If anyone knew more about the Slavic's mounts, it was Toris.

"Natasha favors the sun as her compass, so she will more than likely attack from the south -" Toris back peddled the lumbering jet black pony, elbowing the snorting animal in the breast till the geldings hoof's met the faint outline of a trail already taken maybe a few nights ago.

Toris smiled as his handy work, ever so confident in his tracking skills.

"Natasha is cocky, thinks she can never be beat! So, she will more than likely take the already worn path. This will make her journey faster, _benefit for her_, but more visible to us." Toris smiled with a wide grin, his river-green eyes bright. Tino smiled softly back, impressed with the Lithuanians handy-work.

"I am so terribly glad I did not gut you and your friends like fish all those days ago." The Fin hummed as he clapped Toris upon the back good naturedly.

"Me too." Toris mumbled softly with a nervous laugh like the patter of rain upon the ground. Without guidance, he set himself back to work, clicking his tongue and using a small willow switch at his hand to urge the pony back and forth, creating sharp crescent marks along the watered mud.

At the command of Tino, the horde of young children in the camp set out to collecting cow patties, following the lazy walk of dairy cows as they peppered each fresh pile of droppings with gathered grass, allowing them to dry out some before scooping them messily into poorly and hastily made wicker baskets. Peter of course was exemplified from this rule, as Nikolas had warned that the freckled youths skin might become blemished again - and so Peter had the task of carrying pails of water to the thirsty men, women, and children to quench their thirst in the now heated summer sun.

The air was chirping with the sounds of work, the older children busying themselves with idle laughter and gossip as they weaved mat after mat of grass and heather, dusting them lightly with the reddish soil of the ground that they scooped up by the handful.

Nikolas and Tino themselves took one of the more laborious chores, and helped to thrash and lay down the sap-sticking logs and branches, the mist cooling patches of sweat upon their tunics so that they soon had to abandon them altogether.

It was devastatingly hard work, and they had to do so without complaint, which made the task all the more frustrating.

Tino, however, begged his body to not slow down, to not give into the wear of exhaustion. It did not do much to help by the fact that he was still sore and bruise-ridden, his throat dry and wispy so that he had to pause in his effort to drain ladle after ladle of sweetened creek water.

Berwald also was silent in his work, helping lug by the armful the cinches of ash, pine, and cedar till the skin underneath his arms and at his hipbones was chaffed and red with pricks of blood. Yet, still he pressed on, side by side with Tino, making sure that the Finn did not falter in his movements.

It was not long, however, that under the careful and mirth-pricked eyes of Nikolas that the Norwegian caught the two lovers stealing glances at each others dirtied and sweat stained forms, hunger overlaying the pity of the two's wounded bodies from the last battle.

Nikolas could hardly stand the starved looks of the both of them, and so with careful coy and a mind made up, he formulated an easy plan of sorts, one that would tend to the ache and kindle the becoming of a grand and furious fire.

…

At the call of evening the work was halted, almost all of it completed by the sheer will of the clan-folk alone.

As dusk broke above them in a casting of blackened blue tendrils of smoke, the villagers sat by the fire and enjoyed their meal of roasted meat and broiled waterfowl eggs and a whole salted pig prepared just this afternoon. After their jaws tore and swallowed the chunks of flesh, they washed it all down with jugs of water, their thirst not allowing hardly any grainy ale nor waxy mead to be drunk.

Near the warmth of the fire the wounded or elderly sat upon the dirt floor weaving braids of grass and clumping nettle, singing songs or sharing stories that they had heard and saved for such an occasion, mirth that had been gone for many a days shining softly in their eyes.

Tino, after a long string of miserable days, was finally content.

However, the evening was not to be long lived, as the aches and pains of the villagers begged for quiet lulled sleep in their tents, and so it wasn't long before the company by the fire grew less and less as many walked the little ways to their make-shift homes.

Mathias and Berwald were the first of the four highly esteemed leaders to succumb to good food and a hard days work and they soon made their way to their respective tents with heavy lidded eyes and aching bones.

By the time the stars had fully shown their gleaming faces to the mortals below, Tino and Nikolas were the only ones to be left by the embers warmth. Both wished to lay idle a little bit longer, choosing the easy and mind-numbing task of sharpening their daggers with whetstones as smooth as a hens shell.

It was not long though before their hums and whistles soon slowed to gentle breathing, as they humbled themselves with their work. Silence was easy between them and Tino wished not to break it, knowing that Nikolas would more than likely scold him for pressing chatter into the perfect night air, as his cousin delighted in quiet, finding it so rare in his own hut that he shared with the Dane.

But after a few minutes of Tino sliding the rounded soft stone outward from his blade, he hear Nikolas clear his throat, setting his own tools down upon the scrap of leather at his knee. He sheathed his still dulled dagger and turned the Finn, one of his brows raised slightly.

Tino lowered his own knife, startled at the look in the Norwegians eyes, one that a famished cat gives to a barn mouse. Intrigued with deadly intent.

"I cannot keep my tongue held in silence any longer, though a gossiper I confess I am not." Nikolas huffed, hands collecting the bundle of tools in his lap as he set them down, replacing clasped hands on his thighs.

"I do not know what you mean, dear cousin. I have done nothing to warrant slander…" Tino mumbled, a yawn melding into his words.

Nikolas scoffed, as if he was deeply offended. "Come now, do you think me blind? I see the way you two lust and slave after each other, as if you were both clubbed over the head with bouquets of roses and draped with metal keys!" Nikolas hissed, a playful gleam hinting in his usually stiffened eyes.

Tino rolled his own violet gaze, trying his best to not let the heat that was coming to his cheeks sting him.

"Please, do not remind me of wedding keys, I had hoped to forget such an ordeal." Tino sighed, fingers idling nipping at his dirtied nails, spying how no longer they were pearly pink from wasting in bed, but cut short and stained black.

"Then you admit it, you do confirm there is a fire kindled between you?" Nikolas smiled smugly, Tino caught taken aback by the look his cousin directed towards him.

"Coyness and arrogance do not suit you, Nikolas!" Tino quipped in jest, clucking his tongue as if scolding a child.

"Well go on then, confess so that I allude no longer." Nikolas prompted, urging Tino on with palms opened wide.

Tino sighed, cheeks burning red, feeling the sensation of cotton clouding his mouth.

"Aye, I lust…" Tino admitted timidly, wondering if it was the warmth of the fire that made his dizzy in confessing such a thing.

"And are you ashamed of such a feeling?" Nikolas spoke softly, eyes now dimmed with calmness and sincerity. He edged closer to the smaller bodied Finn.

Tino swallowed thickly, the motion pricking in his throat, a itch that could never be scratched.

"I am not ashamed, that I know. I am more numbed to the proceedings in a bridal bed…" Tino felt his eyes squeeze shut as he spoke his next words. "I know not what to do."

Nikolas' eyes widened as he watched his cousins bashful state.

"I… Well, I had expected as much, but let that not deter you!" Nikolas' voice finally erupted, causing the stillness to evaporate and Tino's eyes to fling open once more.

"And what am I to do? _Lie there like a dead fish?_" Tino hissed, mouth curved into a scowl.

Nikolas tittered a laugh, turning away from the Finn to rummage at the various tools and pouches at his belt.

It was only when his fingers ensnared themselves on a small and expensive looking blown glass bottle that he eased back into his seat, a look of calculating on his face.

"In this vial is whale oil, corked up tight, if you warm it with your fingers touch - it should do the trick." Nikolas supplied helpfully.

Yet Tino could only stare miffed at the bottle now tucked in his hands.

"And what am I to do with this?" Tino hissed once more, nerves frayed.

Nikolas sighed, closing his eyes as if he was in pain. "Dear cousin, listen to me now, and take my words to heart. Do not squirm and do not blanch at the things I am about to tell you, now lean in to me so that I may whisper to you ear, yes, closer, closer…"

"…I am to do _what _with _what?!_"

…

The Finn soon found himself shushed by his cousin and hurried back to his warming tent, the Norwegian himself returning to his own quarters for the night, leaving Tino with more questions than answered.

As if in a daze, the Finn, still clutching the little glass bottle he had received so warmly from Nikolas, entered his sons chambers.

After making sure Peter has been tucked in and kissed good night and the snow white puppy had been placed delicately on the end of his bed to play guard dog, Tino found he had no other options left but to enter his own shelter for the night.

Upon entering the tent with teeth biting down hard upon his lips, the Finn sighed heavily, spying the form of his husband nestled on top of the bed, bathed and dressed for bed.

Berwald was not so keen, however, for Tino's eyes. Though the Swede was laying on his aching back, arm thrown over his eyes, Tino knew he was not in the deep throes of sleep. The rapid breathing of the blond ox-like man that had his ribs pushing up and down reverently gave him away, much to the Finn's delight.

So, quietly so as not to stir his listless bed mate any more, he stripped of his muddied breeches and washed his hands and face furiously in a bowl of cold water, the liquid sending his body to fits of shivers.

After his hair was combed and his face patted dry, the Finn made his way to the small bench heaved against the tanned walls of the tent.

It was a sturdy structure, made from oiled cedar and rubbed with goats fat twice daily to give it a smoothed shine.

Upon the make shift altar sat the cluttered idols of their Gods, various symbols for each, only housing the most dire ones the Swede seemed fit to nest at his own heath.

After studying the objects placed packed and neat before him, Tino took an amber colored chunk of pine resin, setting it to smolder and burn before the stony one eyed face of Odin the All-Father. He silently prayed for victory in war.

Berwald, amused and curious by the movements of the Finn, woke up from his faked slumber and leaned against his elbows to watch the Finnish mans workings.

Tino then strayed his hands slowly to a small clay figurine of Freyer, whom he could identify as the God from the hat he wore and the erect phallus between his squatting legs, signs of the Fertility deity who delighted in sexual acts.

Tino dipped his fingers in a washing bowl, by the floor of the altar, and wiped his reddened face again, flicking the mixture of sweat and water at the statue till it beaded with pearls. He placed a little stick of knotted wild rose branches to burn before the God, the thorns swelling and hissing before they became charred and grey.

"Tino…" Berwalds voice was soft as he breathed, eyes worrying as they focused on the Finn. Tino could hear the disbelief clouding his sleep filled voice.

"I want this, do you want this?" The Finn asked suddenly, a bit too loudly for the quiet that seemed to always settle inside the tent. The candles about them shook and spat angrily at the Finn's breathy voice.

Berwald hesitated for a quick second, eyes looking deep into the face of his beloved. His hands came to stroke Tinos own as the Finn drew nearer to the foot of the bed.

"You won't regret… You aren't -" Berwald sat up further, lets coming to rest at the edge of the bed, hands moving down to smooth at the cloth at the Finn's hips, fingers splayed wide but gentle.

Tino smiled softly, eyes growing kinder and calmer.

"Let me, please. Let me have you and you have me?" His voice smoothed over the Swedes lips as he kissed lightly, swallowing back his words.

Berwald sank back down into the furs and flaxen blankets, body relaxed and yet warmer than ever before as he nodded, lips chasing back at Tinos, eager to never have them leave.

"May I?" Tino breathlessly spoke, breaking away from their kiss to crawl onto the bed with slow stride.

"Aye." Berwald swallowed, jade green eyes impatient and more heated than the Finn had ever seen.

Tino grinned, pressing himself over the body of the Swede, claiming his mouth once more in feverish haste.

…

**Don't worry, don't cry - you'll get a sex scene, but you'll have to wait till the next chapter. Ain't I a cruel bitch. **

**So, how many of you think you know the devious plan our Tino has concocted to end this war once and for all? Tell me in your review what you think the plan is!**


	30. Loving Throes

**I know you've been waiting for this, and I have to say, I might be a bit rusty when it comes to writing sex scenes, so bear with me. **I do not own Hetalia or its characters, but I do own this story. **This chapter's song is called **Joglar, **by **Stille Volk**. I'd like to thank all my translators as they are a tremendous help to me! Thank you **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Sine-k**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**!** **I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**Also, I am also a big fan of Tino taking charge in bedroom settings, so, ye' be warned! **

…

It all started when he began to crawl over the stiffened flesh of his betrothed like a hungry predator lavishing the sound of ones heartbeat as if it was a delicate gift to be held in ones hand and eaten whole.

Their lips were swollen and red as they chased each others mouths till they could breathe no longer, lungs burning and nostrils flaring as sighs of breath escaped and were never reclaimed.

To be raw and opened wholly, to be swallowed and bit and growled at like a Lion eager for his mates giving, it was perfect and wild and Tino felt the tightness in his body leave him as he was now able to succumb to his power of Damen Lejon in the bed chamber. Though a cub he surely was not, but a roaring mane donned lion or strong and fierce lioness he had become.

After seconds of nipping and biting and Berwald finding the curious courage to lick inside the mouth of the Finn with fever that could only be matched by a gangly youths impatience, Tino pulled back to grin. His hair was all mussed and his eyes shone brighter than any polished amethyst stone and it made Berwald groan low in his chest with want - with _need_.

"Husband, eager are you?" Tino teased, feeling a lump in his throat and a shiver at his spine. He splayed his hands tentatively on the Swedes bare chest, feeling the erratic rise and fall of his rib cage, feeling the raised scars and burns of battles won and lost. He remembered back to a time when he would have given anything in the world to stab a dagger through this chest, yet now, all he wanted to do was caress the heart inside and know its beating was for him.

Berwald had the gall, then, to blush and grin toothily, a smile that Tino had yet to see upon the Swedes roughened face. It made Tinos heart beat faster and his mouth dryer, tongue peeking out to wet his parched lips.

Tonight, he would be in control.

With hands that regrettably trembled, Tino ran his calloused finger tips over Berwalds cheeks, his thumbs stroking at the Swedes warmed lips.

Leaning downwards, the Finn lightly kissed those lips, the slowness of his movements seeming so out of pace in the heated tent. Then, with the sweetest and calmest of gestures, the Finn merely slid his lips down his husbands right jaw, the Swedes blond stubble causing the other to hum happily.

As the last of the innocent caresses were touched and invoked, Tino soon felt the coil in his stomach, the heat of his face and all about his body causing him to be bolder.

Moving down, his teeth curled over his kiss-swollen lips, eyes clear as day as they stared deeply at Berwalds own gaze. The Swede blushed furiously, a heady smattering of red across his cheeks. Tino softly laughed, his warmed breath skidding over the Swedes chest.

Slow, yet gaining speed, the Finnish man, ignoring the hardening of his own arousal between his legs, kissed and nipped his way down his husbands flesh, pausing for only the barest of moments to lick at a speck or two of irresistible skin along the Viking mans body.

The Swedes own gaze was heavy and hot as Berwald watched the Finn slowly slink downward, tongue catching on every crevice of his rough and harden body, sure that his skin still tasted like sweat and bloodied wounds from his previous battles. Berwald couldn't help the first wave of shudders to course through his body, hands stilling at his sides.

The mans belt bucked beneath him was cold as it slid over Tinos muscular stomach, the tightness at his belly making him feel almost queasy, the Finn hitching his breath.

Their eyes both caught each other at the surprised sound escaping Tinos lips, and the playful dance they had been eluding around for the past few minutes suddenly erupted into heat and thrumming power between the two. Arms straining and clamoring wrapped themselves tight around necks and hip bones, lips grappled for dominance, a fight the Finn was enthusiastically winning.

Not soon enough, one of Berwald's knees found themselves spreading the Finns legs apart, causing the Finn to gasp and rut downward, feeling the hotness of the Swedes flesh as it slid over Tinos opened thighs. The tunic that was sour with the smell of sweat clung to his body, and with a grimace Tino soon striped himself of.

Tino has no shame in baring his body, his flesh appearing golden in the candles light. He knew Berwald loved him, both body and mind, and so he felt no qualms sliding up and down Berwalds clothed body, enjoying the friction that tingled along his now leaking cock. He never felt so powerful, and it was all because of the look in Berwalds eyes. A look that was directed only at the Finn, only for him.

Fierce determination making his own fingers curl and itch, Tino quickly and with clumsiness he could not avoid, unraveled the Swedes belt. Hastily and without care, the Finn threw the belt of cow hide to the floor, hearing it skid over the dirt.

Berwald, wanting to touch his beloved, but unsure how to, silently commanded his hands to ghost over warmed skin. His thumbs twitched at the Finnish mans stomach, the lightest of touch causing Tinos voice to keen. His back bowed over the Swede, mouth barely containing the smirk at his lips.

Berwald, it seemed, was too innocent to be of much use in commanding the festivities of tonight, and so Tino would have to take the lead.

There was not much room to be coy now, and both of them began to realize as such. Both men had been taught in their rude environments to be strong and careful, loving and thorough with those their hearts have attracted - and so Tino wasted no more precious time. Delighting in teasing tongue and cheek wouldn't release this pent up frustration and hungry urge to feel pleasure.

"You have no shame in taking this man to your bed?" Tino panted, hands coming to curl at the shortened hair at the nape of the Swedes neck. By the end of this summers military campaign, his husbands hair will have grown as long as a horses mane, all wiry and gold. Tino smirked softly to himself as he tugged ever so lightly at the fine combed hairs. Berwald winced, growling slightly. Tino could only grin.

"Shame does not suit me, not when I have my lover in my arms, eager to be pleased." The laugh that Berwald chuffed after his confession was throaty and hoarse - he himself mere seconds from losing his mind in delectable anguish at the hand of the man flush atop him.

"Aye, and not soft skinned am I?" The Finn made a point of rocking his hips downwards, dragging his bared ass against Berwald's clothed erection. Harsh hands immediately came to grab at the Finns thighs, Berwald feeling the muscle underneath his husbands skin. Tinos body had grown hardened over the last few days, but Berwald couldn't seem to mind one bit.

"Be gentle, my love - the wounds are still tender…" Tino hissed as a jab of his husbands thumb accidentally poked a sore bruise at his hip.

"'M s'rry…" The Swedish royal mumbled, hands gentler, softer now. Tino only smiled sweetly, his shyness returning to his eyes briefly before lust swallowed his irises whole once more.

"—hardened heart I have held for you - are you sure it is me you love?" Tino stuttered a whisper once more against Berwalds lips, the Swedes eye fluttering closed, brows furrowing.

"There are rules, surely, of a groom laying with his professed husband…" Tino licked his lips and drew back just as his husband was about to bite his mouth for a much wanted searing kiss. They both knew the prospect that this treat of skin against skin could perhaps be off limits, dangerous to tradition, and frowned upon. All the more fun.

"You are not ah woman, nor a woman that can beget w'th child, yer virginity is not ta' be locked. You may delight in what pleases ya'." Berwald sighed as the Finn began to move once more, this time slower, in an excruciatingly wanton display of pleasure. Berwalds eyes could no longer avoid the sight of Tinos flushed erection, the length of it sliding softly against Berwalds stomach. Pearls of cum soon created a wet sheen along the rigid lines of the Chieftains splayed hips.

"A double standard that is most cruel for women" Tino frowned, sharp teeth biting at his lower lip as an especially wonderful thrust of his hips enticed the hardness beneath him to rub at his entrance. Berwald needed to be naked. _Now. _

Berwald nodded, hips finally thrusting up to relieve the tightness in his breeches. "Such a shame shall be remedied, but first, tell me what ya' wish my love?"

Tino smiled happily, hair stuck with sweat sticking to his face. With fluid movement he placed his hands atop Berwalds own which were tight along his hips, warm flesh that slipped and glided over his dusty purple bruised body.

"I wish to be united" He hummed, his neck within reach of Berwalds lips. The Swede made a grunt of consent before laving at the Finns scarred throat. Without another word from his husband, the Finn busied himself happily.

With fingers that were frenzied and none too coordinated, Tino yanked at bone buttons at his husband's trousers, ripping off half of them in his eagerness.

Berwald himself watched with a tinting of pink on his cheeks as his husband made quick work of his pants, shucking them off with delight.

Yet before the leader of the Northern Lions tribe could deduce what the Finn was going to achieve next, he felt a tight heat envelop his aching erection.

"Ahh, T'…T'no!" Berwald gasped, hips bucking instinctively into the soft wet heat that was so foreign yet so delicious.

Tino hummed at his place nestled between the others thighs, mouth hollowed out some to swipe at the others shaft with his tongue, causing a wrecked sob to release itself from Berwalds throat.

Tightening his eyes, Berwald could only pant softly, his hands idle at his sides, curling themselves into the pelts at his back that made up their bed. He had no clue what possessed the Finn to make such a bold move, but the Swede could only silently praise the Gods above for such a skilled husband in the ways of pleasure and heart. Berwald truly was a lucky man, a fact that was made even more apparent as the Finn began to suck with slightly clumsy lips at the others cock.

Berwald let out a garbled groan, his already rough voice positively hoarse as he seemed to physically struggle in his imaginary bonds, the Finn reducing him to shivers and trembles.

Breathing carefully through his nose, the Finn fluttered his eyes softly, concentrating on his task that Nikolas had told him of. Berwald would need to be hard and wanting, for Tino did not want to disappoint his husband once the Swede was buried inside the Finn, but Tino himself knew the act of sex would hurt.

_"Reduce him to rubble, like an ensnared man weak at the knees with pleasure - then, though your love making will be splendid, it will also be quick. This is your first time, my cousin, and such pains await you in the bed chamber as well as pleasure." _

Nikolas had said, and though Tino knew it was slightly deceitful, he took his cousins counsel to heart. There would be many more nights for the Swede and him to consummate their love like giddy newlyweds, but Tino and his husband were sore from wars abuse, a quick but pleasurable romp would suit them both.

Releasing his mouths hold on the others cock, Tino delicately tongued at the slit, causing a whine, so very shocking from the others mouth, to erupt. Tino smiled smugly to himself, giving one last quick lick up the others shaft before he pulled back, wiping the shined spit from his now reddened lips.

He could hear Berwald panting, know that the other, more than likely still a virgin in many ways, was close. Tino, feeling that churning in his gut again, feared that he himself would faint lest he move now and swiftly. So, biting at his lip, he leaned over the sweated body of the Swede, fumbling with his grip at the stool near the front right of the sunken bed, the small expensive looking bottle of whales oil snatched up by his sweating palms.

Coming down from his own pleasure to huff slightly a groan of need, Berwald eyed the bottle in his lovers hands curiously, eyeing the liquid that looked like captured liquid amber in the candle light.

Biting his lip and praying to Odin's raven of memory, the Finn hoped against hope his recollection on how to properly go about this was still retained in his mind, less it hurt more than it should.

Opening the lid of the bottle, biting at the cork and spitting it out, the Finn dripped some of the contents into his hand till it pooled like thinned watery gold. Berwald watched memorized, swallowing hard.

"An' what are ya' to do with that?" Berwald mumbled, his voice slightly strained from having the other almost suck his brains out through his dick. Berwald, his body still sensitive, jumped as the Finn steadied himself back over the other, hips straddling Berwald's waist.

Tino smiled nervously, "Patience and you will see." He hummed, Berwald watching his every movement as if he was a gaze starved man, feasting upon the face of his beloved for the first time. His eyes did well to calm the Finns nerves, his heart swelling in his chest with a happy murmur.

The first stretch of a finger burned, and Tino could not help but gasp in raw pain, his fingers curled over Berwalds shoulder as the Swede, frightened by what the Finn was doing to himself, rubbed his hands over his back and over his spine.

"T'no... If it hurts too much -" He started but the Finn would hear no protest from his husband.

"Be quite, Berwald." Tino growled, the second finger entering him and making him whine slightly. The pain was still there, and it ached terribly—but it was becoming hotter, searing him inside and he found he liked that, liked being full.

Swiping his tongue over his lips, he started to massage himself with his fingers, probing and sliding them back and forth, the walls inside him seeming to be angry with the intruding movements.

Sighing, toes curling slightly, the Finn was about to give up, to lace his hands with more oil until he shined wet with the stuff—but then, at his fingers careful probing and curling, he yelped.

"What?! Are ya' alright?" Berwald cooed, sitting up slightly, worried jade eyes fixed upon the Finns face that shown like a mask of shocked pleasure.

Eyes wide, mouth slacked and panting, Tino swallowed, urging his fingers forward to that bundle of nerves, rubbing inside himself softly. At another touch of that spot, he keened, high in his throat, almost losing his balance and falling against the Swede. Berwald, hands clutching at his hips, caught him.

"Feel good?" He murmured, traces of worry still apparent in his eyes. Tino, opening his weary eyes again, smiled. "Very," he slurred, trying to force his fingers in deeper, but they were caught at the knuckles, the odd angle of the Finns probing not helping his relief. Whining with frustration, he added the third finger, this one sliding in nice and easy, his body greedily swallowing it.

Berwald, from his place beneath the Finn watched with heated fixation, his eyes blinking, drinking in the sight of Tino fucking himself on his fingers, twisting and flicking his wrist as he groaned and whimpered. Berwald was captivated by the sight fixed so hungrily, so temptingly in front of him. His beloveds flesh now glittered and gleamed with sweat, his own girth bobbing slightly against his stomach as he drew his fingers faster inside of him.

Feeling his own neglected cock weep, Berwald gritted his teeth, waiting for the others instructions, and soon enough he was not disappointed.

Fearing he would cum too soon and be left boneless in a heap of bliss, Tino reluctantly slid his fingers from his now lovingly stretched entrance, his cock giving an interested twitch as he drew them from his body.

Taking a few seconds to catch his breath, he then grinned, turning his sharply excited eyes to Berwald who had a look of excited frustrated arousal in his gaze.

"Are you ready my beloved?" He cooed, sitting up, leaning and aligning himself with Berwald's cock, lightly tugging his hands at the appendage to coat it in the last remnants of the oil.

Hissing slightly at the light touches at his cock, Berwald nodded, bucking up into the waiting hand insistently, like an uncurbed wild animal that had been deprived of necessity for so long.

"I could never deny my Chieftain," Tino murmured, his voice bold and dripping with lust as he lowered himself down upon the other. Gasping at the feel of Berwald nudging at his entrance, of the feel of his own body sinking downward onto the Swede, caused the breath of his lungs to be punched out.

Berwald himself was no better, crooning out a groan as he desperately fought a battle of wills to steady his hips that wished to jerk and roll, thrust up into the Finns tight heat.

It was amazing and it left them both winded and yet aching for more, so much more. Tino could not blame even himself as he started to inch himself downward, taking in more and more of Berwalds girth as he sunk downward, till soon his ass was flushed against the others skin, his own curvy thighs saddled to either side of Berwald's strong hips that threatened at any moment, like the twang of an archers bow, to hitch upward. But still, the Swede fettered himself with an insistent mind that he must be patient, he was most loving to the Finn after all, and any pain caused to his dearly beloved would sooner cause him disastrous pain in his own heart.

However, Tino could not placate his body's need any longer, and so, with a little hiccup of a whimper, he lifted himself up, only to stab himself back down in a long stroke of his slightly trembling legs, his hips cautiously rolling, his ass greedily taking in Berwald's hardened cock.

He honestly had not the faintest idea how he was fraying the other's nerves, making Berwald gasp like a famine sickened man upon his dying, his face red and spotted with sweat as he bucked upward to meet Tinos rutting.

The Finn was positively greedy, he himself not remembering how delightful the feeling of hot skin on his truly was, for he could honestly say he enjoyed the feeling of his husband inside him more than those farm boys back at home...well, Tino thought with a sudden flush in his stomach, that wasn't home. Here instead, now this was where he shall reside, in the open arms of his waiting and kind husband.

A power that he could not rightfully call a sallow tug at his heart, causing the Finn to rock harshly downward again in his aching need, to remind himself over and over again that this was right and what he himself yearned for.

This man underneath him was no longer his enemy, but was his love.

"_Min...Man_," Tino breathed out suddenly, the words that would be foreign to his own tongue sounding pleasant and unbidden. Tino himself could see the renewed spark in his husband's eyes that wasn't purely from lust or love, but was from a swelling of affection and disbelief.

"_Min man, min man...Min man_." Tino gasped as he raked his nails along the front of his husband's stomach, leaving sharp little lines that adorned his already slighted and bruised body. Already the words that he now brought into the soft warmth of the room were becoming strained with each pulse of the others warmth inside him, as Berwald hung onto him for dear life, spurn on by the others words that sent his body to shaking.

Hands that were rough with work and battle seemed smoother along Tinos thighs as he all but bounced up and down, haphazardly and without a sense of true motion, only a sense of true need. But already it as becoming too much for the both of them, as if they were still cradled in the wantonness of youth that sapped them of their inhibitions and worries.

It was with a surprise to the both of them when Berwald came, strong and frenzied, his own eyes widening as a yelp was torn from his throat without warning.

Tino loved the feel of it though, the oil on the others cock and inside him already making him so sweetly wet, and yet he still craved that motion of being full, to be warm all over his insides by his husbands release.

Berwald himself was struggling, his teeth clamped over his lip as his nostrils flared, grabbing at Tinos hips and pulling him down with a slam, fucking him shallowly as his cock began to soften inside him. Tino himself felt his toes curling and knew he was close, warm all over and sweet sheened a he came with a grunt and a sigh, collapsing onto his husbands stomach, his cum smattered all over the Swedes rising and falling chest.

All at once he then felt it, strong arms hugging him softly and gently, mindful of his aches and pains and the fact that he was slipped between the swedes legs.

Tino heard the small whimpers and sighs, the noises of a man who everyday must come to the realization that the ones he loves the most could be so easily taken from him. But in this moment Tino would make his husband forgo such thoughts. Crawling upward, wincing with a pleased shiver as his husbands flaccid cock slipped from inside him, Tino nestled himself against the man who was breathing heavily like some big cat.

"Come here..." Tino mumbled softly, cradling the man's head onto his shoulder as he caressed his scratchy chin and cheek and kisses his lips softly. Berwald made a slight yawn, eyes still wet, as he cuddled into his smaller husband, their legs tangling perfectly into a heap of stiff and sore limbs.

"Jag älskar dig," Berwald sighed, exhaling through his nose as he snuffled and wrestled himself closer to the Finns thrumming warmth.

Tino smiled softly, knowing he easily felt the same. He kissed his husband atop his crown of golden hair and whispered back, "Jag älskar dig, min man," before they both fell asleep with the truthful notion of safety in their hearts.

...

**Author Notes,**

_Min man_ – my husband

_Jag älskar dig_ – I love you.


End file.
